


Lupus Legend - I - The Rise Of Star Wolf

by Lychron



Series: Lupus Legend [1]
Category: Star Fox Series
Genre: Alternate Origin Story, Coming of Age, Drama, Military, School, Science Fiction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:08:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 63,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25564879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lychron/pseuds/Lychron
Summary: Young Wolf O’Donnell trains with a new generation of pilots at the Cornerian Flight Academy, under the guidance of James McCloud. Defiant, brash, and impulsive, he butts heads with both James and his fellow students…as they all unknowingly steer towards a devastating war that will change the course of the galaxy, and their lives. Witness the reimagined origins of the Lylat Wars and its greatest participants, told from the eyes of the boy destined to become the scourge of the galaxy.
Series: Lupus Legend [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1852654
Comments: 10
Kudos: 21





	1. The Boy In The Mist

**Author's Note:**

> Updates on Chapter Progress as well as a General FAQ on the goals of this story will be posted on my profile. Feel free to leave reviews/criticism of any sort. Please tell me what you think, so I can improve any way I can!

**_ Chapter 1: The Boy in the Mist _ **

_Outermost Borders Of Known Space, 4474 AIC **(Later Revised As 10 BLW)**_

It lingered on the edge of the galaxy…the hulking titan known as Venom, sitting just beyond the borders of civilized space, seemingly untouched by the warmth of even the dimmest of starlight.

The planet was far older than any other, having witnessed the birth and death of countless stars, and the evolution of every known race in the Lylat System. One also didn’t need enhanced imaging to see that it was uncontested in size, with how it completely dwarfed the other Lylatian worlds. But the other planets retained one common advantage over their gargantuan sibling: they each sported a canvas of sparkling city lights, or plumes of wispy cloud, or streaking oceans visible from any angle in orbit.

The dark planet’s circular atmosphere didn’t hold a single signifier of life…not a light of civilization, or a drop of healthy blue water. Its only luminescence were the sparse green lines of its radiated lava rivers, streaking across the planet’s surface like a glowing spider-web over a yawning, pitch-black mouth.

Thus, in spite of titanic size, Venom hung neglected at the edge of space, out of sight and out of mind for the rest of the galaxy. The most acknowledgement it got from most Lylatian denizens was on a holographic display or star map, and even that was usually accompanied with an uneasy twinge of uneasy dread.

And no one really knew why.

No one, living or dead, knew enough about the planet to be afraid of it. Both ancient and modern Lylatian records on the planet were vague and marred with inconsistencies. No one had set foot on the planet for thousands of years. Even the Venomians, the racial community of Simians that had originated from the planet eons ago, no longer resided there, having fled the planet in ancient times to establish a lowly colony on Demios, one of its distant Settlement Moons (which only made the term “Venomian” coined by the other races all the more ironic considering most Venomians had no idea what the planet below looked like, much less had ever set foot upon it). In the mind of the unassuming Lylatian public, Venom was dismissed as just another wild, unkept world on the abandoned fringe of space, incapable of life and not warranting a second glance on a starmap. That’s all the word “Venom” meant to most.

Unbeknownst to them, the actual bowels of Planet Venom were worse than anyone could imagine. The skies were lathered in endless black clouds, a leftover from one of the planet’s many atmospheric shifts centuries ago. The warmth and rays of sunlight were blocked, unable to penetrate the atmospheres black veil.

Beneath the unchanging, murky sky, the planet was trapped in a shroud of endless night. There no retaining any sense of time, or the passage of days.

Down below was a landscape seemingly untouched by mortal feet. The surface was an inkwell of hulking rock canyons, spiny rows of mountains, and craggy barren mesa that stretched endlessly into the pitch-black horizon. Every inch of the ground was made up of volcanic rock, coarse and ragged, and bitingly-painful to the touch of bare feet. Sinister mountains craned over valleys like huge robed figures, safeguarding the yawning crevices that yielded depths even blacker and emptier than the sky. So much of the planet hadn’t seen a sliver of bright light in years; nothing, not the buzz of a heat lamp or the flicker of a candle, broke the dark static complexion of the shadow-kissed landscape. The light source for miles were dim, glowing rivers of green lava, but most ran in the highest peaks of active volcanoes or were too buried deep underground to ignite the barren surface with even a sparse glow. All that adorned the surface terrain was sheets of ghostly mist, one that obscured the ground out of sight, often cloaking treacherous cliffsides and chasms. It snaked around mountain peaks, spilling out into the open mouths of caves, steeping the planet in a frigid cold that was cold enough to cut through skin. Misshapen rock formations became tall silhouettes in the thick, smoky air, some clinging together to form archways and corridors of rock that wormed and weaved for miles, creating an endless well of haunting, labyrinthine madness. It was a scenic irony, perhaps, that for all the caves and tunnels that ran beneath it, Venom’s lightless and rock-cradled surface made the planet itself seem like one massive, roofless cave.

But what truly entrenched the gaunt aura of the planetside surface was the silence.

Despite its vast size, the mist-laden necropolis of oppressive mountains and valleys was frozen still. There were no sounds of life to echo across the landscape. Not the shudder of wind, nor the rush of rain. Not the chirp of wildlife, or pitch of intelligent voices, or the wisp of breath from mortal lungs, creating a kind of a quiet that was almost deafening. The constant night air remained still and uninterrupted, flat as a pane of glassy water.

Suddenly, a sound snapped against the flat silence. A distant pitter-patter that would’ve been tiny anywhere else echoed loudly across the barren stretch of canyon.

A creature of a boy, whose canine features were almost indistinguishable in his malnourished face, darted across the coarse surface, the cold air raking through his fur at high speed. He was panting feverishly, rattling the beads of sweat on his face. The vile clacking and hissing he’d heard right above his head just a moment ago was still ringing in his ears. Just thinking about the noise made his heart pound, rendering him too terrified to even look behind him—

Mid-sprint, his unnerved feet scrambled over each other, toes slipping and snatching his balance from right under him.

The Boy blindly flailed his hands up to shield his face from the ground, but instantly regretted it. Upon colliding with it, the brutal sheet of rock scraped and peeled away at his open palms, while his body tumbled over. He rolled down the sloping hill, repeatedly getting hit by every protruding rock on the way down, before finally coming to a skidding halt. Pebbles trickled after him, the deep mist gathering over him like a blanket.

Face-flat on the ground, the Boy’s shoulders quivered. His body tightened into a wince as he pressed his stinging hands against the ground, about to raise his head weakly…

…when he heard a hissing and clacking noise above him.

The sound instantly made him duck his head and flatten his body against the ground, his heart leaping back to his throat. The rancid, vinegar-like stench filled his nostrils, the ground vibrating with the scraping of something dragging its plated body and scuttling its many feet nearby. The Boy held his breath in petrified fear. His purple eyes rose to glimpse the shadow of the giant creature in the distance, searching the mist for him. He could feel a gnashing pain from underneath his hands, biting like nettle. He wanted so badly to cry, but a fearful silence bottled his throat. Crying meant noise, and noise meant death. He clamped his mouth over the stinging sensation, remaining deathly still…his grubby gray coat blending in with the mist thickly draped over the ground.

Finally, the vibrations against the ground ceased. While keeping his head down, the Boy raised his eyes ever so slightly, darting them about but seeing no silhouette. The nightmarish scuttling noise seemed to have disappeared, and the odor along with it. The frenzied, wide-eyed boy didn’t trust the silence, refusing to move. He listened and waited, until the only thing he could hear was the thumping of his own heart.

All was silent again. The barren surface returned to its original, undisturbed state.

After a moment to catch his breath, the boy slowly emerged from the mist, glancing around cautiously. He felt so unbelievably stupid. Going into that cave to look for food had been a terrible idea, one that the sting from his hands was already making him regret. Still feeling uneasy from the silence around him, he bent back down and felt around in the mist for the hunting club he had dropped, a crude thing gnawed out of a stalactite. He dragged it behind him as he made his way up the sloping hill.

The higher he climbed, the more the mist began to dissipate. The twisted rock formations and cliffsides became more visible as he ascended, where the air was free of the eerie haze glazing the surface.

After reaching an elevation where he felt safe, the Boy finally stopped. He’d reached a cliffside overlooking the black mountaintops poking out of the mist-laden canyon belly. He sank down on the flattest rock nearby, ignoring how cold it was, and letting out a wince of relief as he bent his knees. For the first time all day, he let everything go: he let the stalactite club slide from his fingers, let his callus-ridden feet stretch out, and let his head to fall back with his eyelids half-closed. For just five minutes, he wanted to forget about where he was, and how many mistakes he’d made today.

He was only allowed a few moments of bliss, before the biting sting yanked him out. He raised his hands to see his gashed palms, from what had to be the millionth time this planet’s brittle rock had claimed the skin and fur from a clumsy fall of his. He sucked on his open palm, whining softly around the sting...the salty taste reminding him that it was the first thing that he’d tasted in days.

How much longer was he going to go without eating?

He massaged the grooves in his stomach with the back of his limp hands. A real stroke of luck would’ve been to find another day-old carcass like that one time underground. What wouldn’t he give for another right now, part of him pined silently…until his pounding heart reminded him that it wasn’t worth venturing back down in those caves.

The Boy sighed, letting his eyes wander past the distant mountains rising up from an canyon-wide ocean of mist, like fingers outstretched to the unlit sky above. Every night was the same. The same constant cold, the same flat silence. No noise or warmth, no other voice to call for him…an endless stream of days that bled into each other. The nauseous sensation rippling up his weak arms, coupled with his growling stomach, reminded him that it would be time to move on soon. But he was so tired...running away from that Creature had sapped all the energy from his leaden legs. The temptation to close his eyes and rest for a moment was overwhelming. Without even feeling himself do it, the Boy curled up, wrapping his tail around his shivering legs. Maybe sleeping would help him forget how hungry he was. It would be another grueling hour of discomfort—the jagged rock would be his bed, and the mist, his blanket. There’d be nothing but lonely silence to lull him to sleep....but the stillness of the moment would all be his.

Then, he was jolted wide awake by a high-pitched whining.

The foreign sound knifed straight into his ears, and his eyes immediately swerved to the sky above, not seeing so much as a shape in its black depths. The noise rattled the air, like it was right above him. It shot a bolt of fear up the Boy’s spine that made him dive back down into the mist and sprint out of sight.

**_VOOOOOOOOOOOOORRRRRSSSSSH!!!!!!!!_ **

High above, a flare of orange exploded behind the murky clouds, before an object engulfed in flames was regurgitated out of them. It might have been a ship some time earlier in the night, but whatever model or fleet insignia it might’ve sported was lost beneath punctured hull, peppered with scorchmarks that had been viciously etched into its exterior. A ring of fire built around the ship’s nose as it built up uncontrollable speed, a trail of black smoke flooded from its failing booster engines. The ship bobbed like a fly with its wings clipped, showing its pilot’s fruitless attempt at a safe landing as it plummeted towards an unwelcoming bed of jagged black rock—

CRAAAASSSHHH!!!!

The ship crumpled like a tin can upon slamming into the canyon bed, all of its metal exterior folding in and contorting. It spun about, rolling across the jagged rock surface with a shrill metallic scraping that rattled the valley. Each roll skinned off more of the ship’s metal hide, peeling away sheets of metal like paper and scattering flaming valves, piston rings, and diffuser rods in every direction, until a passing rock face flipped the ship on its belly. Blinding sparks rained on the battered vessel’s sides as the sound of the hull dragging across the ground sent out an ear-splitting screech. The blackened metal booster engines on the back of the ship spluttered out one last explosion, and the wreckage finally lurched to a halt.

The last echoes of the explosive entrance disappeared into the misty air. The ship’s shattered window canopy was illuminated with crackling flames and the strobe-like flicker of the electric sparking of mangled wires from within the cockpit.

_Clang!_

The cockpit window made a pathetic attempt to rise automatically before coming off its hinges. A bent shape fell clumsily onto the ground, where it wriggled in fits of groans and labored breathing. Not even a second later, the valley thundered with the deafening growl of another machine, and the figure stopped moving. It heard the sound of the other approaching ship and didn’t waste a second. It bolted off into the mist, the outline of its silhouette vanishing.

A pair of blinding white hull lights sprang to life as the ship lowered itself into the canyon, triangular hull and sloping wings emerging through the black smoke. The hot air blasting from its rear plasma reactors swept away the mist and scattered the dusty gravel of the canyon floor. Perched across the flaming wreckage, the triangular craft let out a hiss, and the canopy window swung open. The pilot’s sliver boots landed on the surface, soles barely grazing the ground before he raced towards the smoldering wreckage. The firelight illuminated his orange fur as he approached the wreckage, as well as the other ornaments of his face: the curve of his jawline, the scar running up his cheek, and the glossy aviator’s sunglasses catching the rising embers.

The long night’s pursuit had frenzied James McCloud, put him on edge.

Even as he slowly moved around the wreckage, his brown-dipped ears flattened and his tensed. His eyes were locked on the cockpit, waiting with his hand already hovering over his holster for a silhouette to rise from it.

The smoke cleared away. The cockpit was empty.

James went rigid, ears springing up alertly. He scrambled up the twisted ship ramp, searching the shard-littered, wire-ridden but otherwise empty seat.

“Shit…SHIT!” He exclaimed hoarsely, leaping off the ramp and looking about in a rush. He would sprint a few steps and then stop in his tracks, repeating this back and forth as he darted his eyes about frantically, the sight of the seemingly-endless stretch of mist and interchangeable caves tightening his lungs with panic. “No, no, no, no, _no…”_

He squinted upwards for any sign of his wingmates’ ships. His hand flew to the grey headset seated around his tall ears, fingers fumbling for the sliding button for Transmission Mode.

“Blue Zero to Squadron, repeat! Blue Zero from the surface—” He said, scrambling past the usual protocol jargon. “He’s not here. I’ve lost him!”

A gruff voice, rough-hewn and streetwise, blared onto the comm. _“What?!_ What do you mean you’ve lost him, you were right on him! I saw you shoot him down myself!”

“I’m in front of the wreckage, Pigma, I’m looking straight at it. The entire ship is here…but _he’s_ not,” said James, breathless and frantic. “The perp’s escaped.”

“Whoa, whoa, just slow down now...” Another voice, Peppy Hare’s unmistakable countrybred Fichinese accent, crackled on. “Do you see any sign of him anywhere?”

The mist parted around the hurrying stride of James’ boots. Visibility was poor even with the dim flashlight of his headset, straining his eyes as they scanned the plates of the canyon floor.

“…No. No body, no trail, nothing. If he’s alive, he could be anywhere on this planet. Any cave or ditch among a thousand.”

“Let’s not panic. We could try scanning for him from our ships, can’t we?” Peppy offered tentatively. “Even if we find the vaguest of life-signs, we could at least know where start looking.”

Pigma cut him off. “Don’t bother. Look…” From his channel, there was the loud clacking of buttons and shrill chirp of his radar scanner. “All the dust and turbulence in the atmosphere is wreaking havoc on our sensors. Damn clouds are scrambling and blocking everything I throw at it—I can’t even pick up James’ lifesigns. We might as well be blind.” The growing disappointment in his voice began to spike, and James’ stomach wormed as he felt it directed at him. “If our guy’s really here, then we’re already too late. Even a second’s head start is all he’d need to vanish on a planet like this. It’ll be days before we find him…”

James finished for him defeatedly. “…if we find him at all.”

A brittle silence followed on the radio. They could all feel the same sickening feeling, the sensation of an entire night’s worth of effort and exhaustion slipping through their fingers.

“Great. Just beautiful.” There was an audible slam from Pigma’s channel as he banged his fist on his control monitor. “Are you happy now? This is _precisely_ why you should’ve listened to me. But hey, whoever listens to me, right?’

“Don’t start, Pigma,” James growled. “Now’s really not a good time.”

“Why the hell shouldn’t I? I had this son of a bitch pinned down back on the capital ship, he had nowhere to run!” The comm crackled under the strain of Pigma’s fuming voice. “I woulda killed him right then and there, if _someone_ hadn’t stopped me!”

James gritted his teeth. “We need this guy alive _,_ Pigma. You would’ve blown the snout clean off of him if I hadn’t—

“He just got done blowing the Chairman of Space Dynamics’ brains out and killing everyone else aboard! We’d be doing them all a favor! What would’ve been wrong with that?!”

“We would’ve accomplished _nothing,_ that’s what,” snapped James, as he paced about hurriedly. “All those months of investigation, all that blind groping for leads…it would’ve all gone up in smoke the second you shot him. We won’t stop to these people by making martyrs out of them, we have to find out who’s organizing them.” 

“Oh, yeah?” Pigma retorted. “Then what was the point of stopping me from killing him, if we were just gonna to lose him out here? Unless letting this guy to get off free for committing a murder is part of the plan. If it is, you’re doing a spectacular job.”

Frustration dismantled the cool, authoritative composure James usually kept. “Look, if you’re not going to be of any help, keep the comm channel quiet and let me do things my way. _One_ of us needs to think.”

“Go on right ahead. It’ll be the first you’ve done all evening,” Pigma said spitefully. “Maybe you’ll find another creative way to let our fugitive escape!”

James barked into his headpiece. “What are _you_ doing to help? I’m trying to fix the problem, take responsibility for what happened!”

“ _You?_ You can’t even listen to anyone’s judgment but your own, let alone take responsibility for your own—

“ENOUGH! Both o’ you, just stop it!” said Peppy over their overlapping voices. “Gettin’ mad at each other ain’t gonna help us catch this guy any quicker. Just…” He exhaled. “Instead of focusing on all the wrong things we’ve done tonight, let’s focus on we haven’t tried yet, okay?”

The Hare wasn’t older than either of them, and was in fact the youngest. But every now and then, when the impulse left over from James and Pigma’s youth bubbled up between them, it was Peppy who’d step in to be the parent of the team.

James sat down on a nearby rock, removing his glasses. “I don’t know what we _can_ do at this point. Without a way to track this guy, we’re lost.” He rubbed his eyes, feeling the sleeplessness of the last three days rush at him. “Pigma’s right…this was a bad call. _My_ bad call.”

Hearing the unusual amount of discouragement in James’ voice spurred Pigma to suggest out of guilt: “Hey, hey…look, I just jumped to conclusions a little too fast. None of us could’ve predicted what this guy was gonna do. Hell, how do we know this guy didn’t just set his ship to autopilot to lure us here? We were just in the clouds of Demios…maybe he jumped ship back there. Took a space suit and let us chase an empty ship, y’know?”

“And risk burning up? You really think he’d be that desperate?” Peppy sounded dubious.

“He’s with the VLA. You know their type: brainwashed, obsessed, hellbent…they’re the worst _kind_ of desperate,” Pigma said with audible distaste. “I’m tellin’ you, after what he accomplished tonight, I wouldn’t be surprised if hasn’t high-tailed it back to the colony by now…scuttled back to the nest to disappear with the other ants, y’know? And if that’s where he is, that’s where _we_ should be!"

The splintering headache from James’ head dulled out the voices of his teammates bickering on the comm. He massaged his forehead, also subconsciously rubbing his nose at the musty smell in the air.

James froze. He inhaled immediately; even with how faint it was, the rust-like smell was unmistakable. He jerked his head, aiming the flashlight of his headset to the ground, probing the rock-surface until he found it: red flecks, hued orange against the illuminated rock.

“… _Blood.”_ He exclaimed. “Pigma, Peppy, there’s blood here!”

Pigma stopped mid-sentence. “Blood? Is it _his?”_

James didn’t answer, crouching down to smear some of it on his fingertips and bring it up to his keen snout. “It has to be his—it’s fresh, a few minutes old at most.”

Retaining a low crouch, James walked briskly in step with the trail of blood speckling the ground, occasionally brushing his fingers on the ground, years of tracking returning to them like reflex. He repeatedly swerved his eyes from the trail to the unraveling valley ahead, bracing for an ambush from behind one of the tall rocks looming up from the mist.

He kept muttering aloud: “He was in a mad sprint…and the trail snakes about a lot…” His fingers traced the erratic line. “He was looking for some place to hide, quickly…”

Suddenly, the rock floor beneath his fingertips became smoother and wet, and he felt the air around him become colder. James swerved his gaze up to find himself at the mouth of a cave, the fog spilling into its dark bowels…along with the dotted trail of blood.

Still crouched, James spoke in a low voice. “The trail goes inside one of the caves. …He’s inside.”

The radio suddenly became devoid of chatter. The other two pilots already knew what their Leader was thinking. Pigma started. “Now, Jim, wait—”

Without a moment’s hesitation, James rose to full height. “Adjust G-Diffusers for atmospheric entry and land at my coordinates,” he ordered, the authority returning to his voice now that the situation was back in his hands. “I’m heading in after him.”

“James, _don’t,”_ Peppy immediately protested. “Pigma and I have your position on the radar, we’ll be there in a minute to back you up.”

The Fox overrode him. “No, you _won’t._ Neither of you follow me inside, you hear me? You two stay at the cave entrance and guard the perimeter; cut him off if he tries to double back. I can handle it from here.”

“By yourself?” Pigma yelped. “You’re faint enough as it is, we can barely hear you—you go into that cave, your frequency might disappear off the comm completely! If something goes wrong, no way for you to reach us!”

“I won’t need to call you. He’s only one man…only one of us needs to pursue him.”

“Have you lost your mind?!” The Hog’s channel was practically straining under his voice. “For Christ’s sake, James, you’re not a full squadron or hazard team…you’re one guy, on a planet you’ve never set foot on. Hell, _no one’s_ set foot on this place in a thousand years! You won’t know what kind of death trap those caves’ll lead you straight into—” Then, there was a hesitation in his voice. “Look, maybe….maybe we should let ISCA-12 handle this from here.”

A cold sensation that nothing to do with the planet’s frigid atmosphere shot up James’ back, causing him to snap angrily. “You know exactly what they’ll do to him when they catch him. Why the hell would you even suggest something like that?”

“This guy isn’t leaving us with any options! I know you don’t like the way they deal with…well, _his_ kind…but so what? After what he’s done, maybe he deserves it—”

“No one deserves what they’ll do to him, understand?” James spat. “I don’t care what species he’s a part of, I’ll never stand by willing for something like that! _Never,_ understand?”

“Stop it! We’re not turnin’ this into another race debate.” Peppy spoke firmly, before focusing on their Leader, trying to nudge him from a place of reason. “James, I know you’re trying to make up for letting this guy escape, and this ain’t the way to go about it. We have to be smart about this! Diving down there in that cave, _without_ radar and _without_ backup, is probably exactly what this guy wants.”

“Peppy, he’s already bleeding,” James said urgently. “I can still get to him, talk to him…make him see reason before anything. I’m not losing this lead, _not this time.”_ He reeled back the haste in his voice, steadying himself. “Guys…please. Too much has gone wrong tonight because of me. I might not have another shot at making things right.”

There was a pause from the other two pilots. The desperation in the fox’s voice made it apparent that he wasn’t ordering them around this time.

Pigma’s sigh of resignation distorted the comm channel. “You always make this job fifteen times harder than it needs to be, you know that?” There was an audible click as he yanked his flight stick into place. “Fine, then. Peppy and I will touch down, but it’ll be tough to reach you. And Jim… _watch yourself._ These Liberators are zealots, you hear me? Blind, brainwashed. They’ll do anything for this cause of theirs. Now’s not the time to play the ‘concerned parent’ routine, so don’t—gh— **FSHHHHHHHH—** ere the— **FSSSSSHHHHHHHH—** av **—FSSSSHHHH** —”

James winced slightly at the scrambling noise, before glancing upwards. The radio system of the other Arwings must’ve been blacking out from atmospheric penetration. It was just him and the silence now, with a thin, icy wind emerging from the giant cave yawning before him, whistling through his fur. James blinked the sleeplessness out of his steely eyes, squeezed the numbness out of his fingers…purging himself anything that might hinder him.

He drew his blaster from its weathered holster, and cautiously stepped inside.

* * *

The silent tunnel rattled with the slow, rhythmic echo of James’ ginger footsteps. He almost felt like he was being swallowed; the air grew damp as the tunnel shrank around him, and it became easier to accidently nudge the cold, wet cave walls with his arms, sending a shiver rippling up his fur. He could barely see the ground or the area around him. The dim glow of his flashlight danced over the cracks of the wall, only allowing him to see a few inches in front of him. He probed the blackness with the barrel of his GD92 _Telsar_ pistol blindly. Soon, he could barely make out the grooved ceiling of the cave transition into a swarm of stalactites. Endless spiny rows of them clung to the walls, jutting and hanging in a way that created the optical illusion of the cave walls melting all around him

Feeling his fur raked by the cold air, James tightened his grip on his blaster. This planet was nothing like he imagined it would be… so dark, noiseless, oppressive and endless. Certainly nothing like the Papetonian forests and rice fields where he’d grown up. He couldn’t imagine any kind of life-form leading a dire existence in a place like this....

Then, in the corner of his eye, he saw a rush of movement ahead, barely distorting the shadows. “HEY!”

_Shwa-_ THOOM!

James only had a second’s notice to flatten himself against the rock wall, feeling the flurry of red laser-shots singe the air as they streaked past his face. He cursed and rubbed the burn that had seared a patch of fur off his cheek, but heard the dragging noise of the Fugitive’s frantic limp as he sprinted deeper into the cave’s lightless bowels.

Instead of firing back, James spun to a shielding part of the cave wall, blaster at the ready. Any attempts at stealth were pointless now. Keeping his muscular back aligned to his cover, keeping as much of his bright, reddish-brown fur out of view as possible, he peered around and called out.

“There’s no use running!” He eyed the blood trail freckling the stone floor. “Even ignoring your condition, there’s no place for you to run _to_ —not on this rock.”

He waited, ears perked for any sound that would rattle off the cave walls. A voice caused James’ barrel and attention to jerk up.

“I don’t need to outrun you, McCloud…just to kill you.”

A familiar smile from James’ younger, more roguish days played on his lips as he edged out behind cover, just enough to call out: “Think you can?”

_Shwa-_ THOOM! _Shwa-_ THOOM!

Blaster shots greeted him—ones that seared by and lit his face red before shattering the rock fixture above him into a shower of obsidian pieces. James leapt into a brisk dodge roll, glasses falling off his face and clattering somewhere down the distant catacombs. As he scrambled back up, he took notice of the somewhat random scorchmarks left by the laserfire.

“You’re wasting an awful lot of laser-rounds,” He called out. “First day holding a blaster?”

No response came from the darkness ahead. James emerged from his hiding place and strode forward.

“You haven’t been counting your shots…but I have,” said James as he walked, eyes panning over the stone columns adorning the tunnel. “You wasted plenty back on the docking platform when I was chasing you, and before that: You used a shot when you killed the Chairman. You used another when you killed his wife…” He paused briefly, before continuing his slow walk. “…another when you shot his daughter, and another when you shot that oil gasket and set those other passengers ablaze.”

“So those mongrels died slowly, did they? Good.” The Fugitive’s voice was layered with spite.

The words sent a boiling anger into James’ blood, one that he tried to squeeze out through his fingers around the grip of his weapon, before he heard the scuttling sound of footsteps ahead. He ran further down, out of the unoccupied maze of columns to where green light started seeping into view. Radioactive cracks snaked cave walls on either side of him and illuminated the bowels with an eerie, oppressive aura, and turned his orange fur and white snout different shades of green. The catacombs now opened to a massive stone well with a large chasm, overlooked by a rock bridge that stretched over it like a weathered tongue. A sudden gust of movement erupted in front of James, one he almost shot at…realizing stupidly that it was hot air from a geyser. The rock bridge was dotted with them, each hissing to life every sporadic few seconds.

Suddenly, his eyes found the trail of blood scattered on the bridge’s surface, now better illuminated with the green light, until a second trail of blood materialized, running adjacent to the first. Narrowing his eyes, James looked ahead farther down the bridge see them merge to see the two trails merge.

No…. not two trails. One that looped around.

“DON’T MOVE!”

The hoarse shout behind James made him whirl around, at last finding himself face to face with his fugitive. The two of them were sweaty and wild-eyed behind their blasters, standing barrel-to-barrel atop the rock bridge. 

Now that the heat of pursuit was gone, James could see with a sinking feeling how young the fugitive was. He was a monkey—a tamarin, maybe? James wasn’t rehearsed enough in Venomian demographics to know—somewhere around nineteen, maybe younger. Greasy locks of fur matted above his brow, but his face was rampant with wild young features that ran contrast to James’ own creased, brow-beaten face. He was clad in the kind of stained and tattered work-clothes typical of his species these days, while also sporting a gruesome, twisted ankle that he’d been dragging along since the crash. For a moment, his sweaty and frenzied face remained transfixed, seemingly stunned to be seeing James McCloud himself, real and in the flesh...not on a Holofilm or static photo.

“Drop the blaster an’ move away!” The boy spat, speaking in the garbled, uneducated accent characteristic to Venomians. “ _Drop it,_ or I’ll kill you!”

James frowned suspiciously. For someone who had left behind so many corpses, the fugitive’s trigger discipline was abysmal, worse than some of his Academy students, fingers curled around the grip as one would with a drill rather than a blaster.

The Venomian’s eyes bulged. “You deaf?! I’ll blow your bloody head clean open if you don’t drop it, I swear!”

James narrowed eyes, studying him. “No, you won’t.”

Perplexed by his lack of alarm, the Venomian elevated his voice to a shout. “What, you think I can’t do it? I’ve killed plenty of canines tonight, and I can definitely stomach killing _you!”_

“You won’t do it because you’re out of blaster rounds. We both know you are.”

The young Simian became rigid. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

James’ eyes homed in on him. “Then why haven’t you shot me yet? Why go from trying to kill me to trying to get me to drop my gun?”

Startled surprise ran up the Venomian’s hands, threatening to rattle the grip of his blaster. He snapped the barrel higher, trying to iron out the desperate cracks in his voice. “I got one more shot. That’s all I need to—”

“No, you don’t,” James said flatly. “You haven’t been counting, but I have: you think you have another round chambered in there, but you’re wrong. You’ve wasted a lot in this cave...” One of his keen ears twitched. “…and I haven’t heard you reload.”

The Venomian suddenly looked queasier under the green light teeming around them, suddenly appearing small and cornered. “T-Think I’d fall for that? I know what you’re trying to do, McCloud…” He lips and hands both quivered as he tried to reinforce his bluff. “And it ain’t gonna work! I’ve got _you_ cornered, not the other way around!”

James slung his blaster away and faced him boldly. “Take your shot, then. If you really have one left, then you’ve got nothing to lose, right?” As he spoke, his fingers brushed his holstered pistol, eyes flashing. “Prove me wrong.”

The air became dead, with only the occasional hiss of the geysers around them. Sudden hesitation mounted behind the Venomian’s blaster as he remained petrified where he stood, clearly wary of blowing his cover by sounding off the fatal, empty click from his pistol once he’d pulled the trigger. His eyes darted from the catacombs behind him, to the Fox obstructing him.

“Be honest, kid, even if you managed to kill me, what was the next step in your plan?” James eyed his twisted leg. “Hobble down here, in the planet’s underbelly till you starve?”

The Venomian backed away slowly on his side of the bridge. “There’s more’n one way off this planet…” There was a strange inflection in his voice, as his eyes darted between beads of sweat.

James approached him slowly. “You sure it’s me you’re trying to convince?”

“Whatever happens to me, you can be sure you won’t be gettin’ your prize, Cornerian!” The Venomian spat. “You won’t be draggin’ my carcass back to make every headline on tomorrow’s News Transmission like you do with everyone else. Not me…not _this_ time!” He aimed his rancid glare behind him, cursing under his breath. “I don’t even know how the hell you followed me here…”

“It wasn’t particularly hard,” said James coolly. “The blood trail you left behind wasn’t exactly conspicuous.”

The fugitive’s eyes swerved back to James. “The what?”

James gestured to the flecks on the ground. “Whatever part of you is bleeding, it gave you away back at the canyon… I probably never would’ve found you without it.”

Too paranoid to take his eyes off of James, the Venomian glared at him suspiciously. “I ain’t bleedin’ anywhere…I don’t know what you’re on about. One of you Star Fox twits tackled me back on the ship, broke my leg…but none of you had the strength to wound me.”

James probed the young man’s eyes but didn’t find any signs of lying. He immediately furrowed eyebrows. _Then if it wasn’t your blood that led me here, whose…?_

Suddenly, eyes darted around the cave and jumping to his own conclusions, James’ voice becomes rigid. “If you’ve taken a hostage from the capital ship, I won’t show you an ounce of mercy.”

The Venomian glared haggardly at James, like the Fox was rubbing it in. “You _know_ I didn’t grab anyone. Once you arrived, with all those CDF troops behind you, I couldn’t stop to think…about _anything._ ” His darting eyes found James again, his voice hopelessly thin with exasperation. “Y-You weren’t supposed to be there. You, the Rabbit, the fat bastard pig that twisted my leg… _none of you_ were supposed to be there.”

“Misfortune finds us all eventually,” said James, rather unsympathetically.

_“Does it?”_ The young man stared at James hatefully. _“_ Does a Cornerian even know what that word means, with his full belly an’ smooth hands?” He raised a free hand, making the callouses of his palm visible. “Have you even worked a day in your life? Worn yourself to the bone in some factory, hoping that just, _maybe,_ you might have food for the week?”

“You don’t get to talk to me about suffering after what you just did,” James snapped.

“I was giving you Canines got a taste of what _you_ give us!” rasped the Venomian. “If I made a single one of those wretches feel an ounce of what we have to endure—”

“So this is how you remedy the inequalities in the world?” The lack of sunglasses exposed all the bitter disapproval in the commando pilot’s grey eyes. “By killing innocent Cornerians?”

“There _are_ no innocent Cornerians!” The Venomian hissed, his lip curving to exposing his fangs. “The only reason we have to suffer is because of _you!_ All of you, makin’ us the trash of this galaxy—scattered, without a homeworld outside of that shithole Demios, born to do the work of scum an’ low-lifes! And why? ‘Cause you think that beating us in some war a thousand years ago gives you bragging rights to have us grovel at your feet while you gloat above us! You brag about having the biggest fleet of ships, when _we’re_ forced to build ‘em for you! Everyone calls Corneria City the galactic jewel, when _we_ were the ones who paved it, built every skyscraper!”

Through the matted curtain of greasy fur, the Simian stared smoldering coals into James, his voice was filled with so much murderous anger for someone so young.

“An’ you canine scum have the nerve to call it to call it ‘reparations’. _Reparations_. Why must _I_ pay for some war that my ancestors lost, that I wasn’t even born to see?” His angry voice echoed across the bridge. “I’ll tell you what it is: it’s nothing more than an excuse to ‘ave us wriggling under your thumb…to make us _your_ slaves an’ beggars, paving every tile in Corneria City to enshrine your victory over us!”

James didn’t bother protesting or arguing. He’d heard this ballad hundreds of times, with the same fanaticism, from countless other impressionable Venomians his age. This one and the others James had captured…they all believed in what they were spewing. All of it, with every ounce of their being.

The same seething, often-recited rhetoric that had obviously been planted in them by the radical Simian Revolutionaries they idolized.

“All that big talk about Corneria being ‘the Mother World’, the heart of peace, but you ain’t above leechin’ off of an entire race, are you?” the Simian spat. “But why should I expect a Cornie bastard like you to be ashamed for any—”

“I’m Papetonian, not Cornerian,” James cut in, having heard just about enough.

Venomian stopped. “What?”

“Dogs come from Corneria, foxes come from Papetoon.” James folded his arms. “We’re not all the same. Try to learn the difference before piling the blame at the wrong feet. It’ll save you a world of embarrassment.”

The Venomian’s face flushed, remaining locked in a few seconds of genuine surprise before his face contorted into a dismissive scowl. “Fat difference _that_ makes. The Dogs’ve got you bought an’ paid for, that basically makes you one of them. But you won’t be bringing _me_ in.”

“You think you’re someone special just because you’re indoctrinated with all this freedom fighter crap?” asked James. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? The chaos you’ve brought about?”

“I did what thousands of Venomians are too afraid to do!” The young Simian insisted. “Everyone back home talks about how the Venomian Liberator’s Army is wasting its time, that we’re fightin’ a lost cause…”

And like clockwork, there it was: the _VLA_ , the name that caused James to groan internally. Where other intergalactic terrorist groups would’ve gradually dissipated into obscurity or defeat, the VLA were a persistent thorn in his side. It seemed like they were behind every massacre and protest these days, but always ever so careful to purge everything from evidence to their own acolytes to remain elusive, and ever at large.

“…and tonight, we made ‘em all see that hope isn’t lost, that we ‘ave a chance at tipping the scales in our favor!”

“You have a sick way of showing it,” said James disdainfully.

The Simian’s face soured in response to his accusing tone. “I don’t expect you to care. A Venomian uprising would get in the way of your Cornerian paycheck, wouldn’t it?” He demanded, voice imbued with searing vindication. “You’re part of the reason the rest of my kin are afraid to join with us.”

“They don’t want to join up because their lives are hard enough without being lumped in with a horde of fanatics massacring ships and doing everything in extremes,” James snapped. “They don’t want what you’re offering. And I can’t say I blame them.”

The Venomian shook his head. “The others’ve been bent over by the Dogs for so long that they’re too afraid to raise their ‘eads higher than the Cornies would like them to. They’ve lost the will to revolt. But they’ll come around eventually…a few more victories like tonight, an’ they’ll come to our side…”

James muttered. “Stop it, kid…”

“Once Simians everywhere see the strength of our cause, they’ll be begging to join by the millions. They’ll no longer be afraid of the Cornies, or _you!”_ He straightened indignantly, his eyes wide. “We’ll liberate ‘em all, make their lives better one day at a time, an’ there’ll be _nothing_ you can do ab—”

“Don’t you get it? You’re making things WORSE!” James finally shouted. He’d completely abandoned the professional neutrality required of him. “Ever since I was a boy, all I’ve ever heard about apes and monkeys is how letting them mingle with the rest of us is a hazard waiting to happen. ‘Born with war in their veins, confused by peacetime…defective and untamable’…that’s what I was taught.” James’ eyes hardened. “What do you think you or your Liberator friends are doing when you wreak bloodshed like this? You _enforce_ that stigma! Venomians that had nothing to do with this slaughter are going to be harassed and mistreated for days because of what you’ve done tonight. Is that what you call a victory? Watching your own people suffer because of your blunders?”

The youth snarled. “They wouldn’t suffer that stigma if your Cornie friends hadn’t spent centuries enforcing it!”

“Because you keep proving what they say about you!” James kept pleading, sounding more like an exasperated parent here than he did back home. “Every time, it’s the same. The shooting in Rhea Square, setting fire to those starship yards on Fortuna, the assassinations—”

“Triumphs, victories, every one of them.” The young Venomian’s eyes burned. “What, I’m supposed to feel bad about a bunch of dead Dogs in the street? Dying’s the nicest thing any of them have ever done for me!”

All James could do was look on incredulously, realizing that all attempts at reasoning with the boy were going nowhere.

Resigning to an icy glare, James stepped forward. “I’m wasting my time with this...with _you._ ”

The gloating look in the Venomian’s face faltered at the sudden, lethal intent that entered James’ voice. He hobbled back as the Fox’s lean silhouette towered over him. “Y-You’re not going to…?”

“I’ve put in too much time and sweat into keeping you alive. Now it’s time for you to make it worth it.” He raised gaze slightly. “My superiors, along with everyone else, don’t think tonight’s ruckus was anything more than a random killing spree, but I know better. What happened tonight on that ship was deliberate, planned exhaustively…but not by you.”

The Venomian’s look slipped.

“You’re just some urchin desperate to prove himself to the Liberators who picked him up off the street. Someone in the VLA put you up to this. Who were they? What names did they use?”

For a moment, the teenager just stared at him. “You chased me across three quadrants to this strip o’ rock just to interrogate me?” He almost looked incredulous despite his breathless lungs and sweat-smeared face. “You can’t be for real.”

_“What were their names?”_ barked James, impatiently snatching the boy up by the collar. The intel he’d spent maddening months coveting was in his grasp, staring right at him. “Tell me. NOW.”

“You ain’t gonna get SHIT outta me!” The Venomian was practically being hoisted off the ground, fruitlessly trying to wrestle James’ pincerlike hand off him. “I dunno what kind of lies the mongrels tell about us on the News Holovids, but we Liberators would skin ourselves alive before rattin’ each other out. Loyalty’s the only thing we have left...the only thing Cornies can’t take from us. You think I’d sell out the others to you?!”

“You will, if you’re smart,” said James coldly. “Willingly or not, you’re giving me those names.”

The Venomian’s rapid breath steadied, breaking into a partial smile, emboldened by the newfound advantage he had over James.

“An’ what’re you gonna do if I don’t? You watched me decorate a ship’s deck with a roomful of Dogs, but you still aren’t willing to kill me. ‘Cause that’s not your way, is it?”

“Don’t test me, boy,” warned James, voice raising to a boil. “I have ways of getting what I want without having to kill you.”

“Is that supposed to scare me?” The boy’s dangling toes found the ground and he stood taller, his silhouette rising to meet James’ on the bridge’s green-lit backdrop. “I grew up hearing stories ‘bout you just like everyone else, McCloud. You might’ve been somethin’ fierce back then, when I was a kid…” He gave him an up-down glance. “But that was back when you when you were younger, faster…when you still had battles to fight. I know all about what the Hero of Galactic Legend does _these_ days: savin’ townspeople here, defendin’ a crippled fleet there, catchin’ two-bit smugglers and pirates—that’s your life now. Being Corneria’s Favorite, Housebroken Boy Scout.” His voice dripped with scorn as he drew brashly up to him. “So why should I be ‘fraid of some wet-nosed errand boy in an old man’s body, when I know the harshest thing I’m going to get is a stern lecture?”

A long time ago, a younger version of James would have probably given into the long night’s worth of frustration and seized the boy by the throat and watch all the air and confidence seep out of him. Just for a few seconds, the lethal silver eyes of that younger self emerged—the one this boy wasn’t old enough to ever have met, the one whose urges hadn’t been tempered by age or conscience, whose ferocity in the sky at one point could’ve left graveyards of wrecked ships behind him. Back in the days when he only had _himself_ to answer to.

Then, just as quickly as it had materialized, the look in James’ eyes faltered. 

_“I’m_ not the one you should be afraid of…it’s the people I work for,” He said finally. “The lengths I’d go to get the intel I need is nothing compared to what they’ll do to you.”

The Venomian frowned. “The Dogs? There’s no way they’ll get to me. None of them followed us here—”

“Shut up and listen. My orders from the Fleet were ‘capture without engagement.’ Do you know what that means?” James grabbed the monkey by the shoulders, trying to rattle sense into him. “That means I shouldn’t even be here, talking to you—just to hand you over to them in whatever shape I found you. But it’s been hours, and they haven’t received any kind of progress report from me. They’ll have assumed the worst…” He shot an apprehensive glance at the tunnel. “…which means they’re already on their way here. And there’ll be nowhere for you to run when they do.”

The Venomian suddenly swept James’ hand off of him. “I won’t be dragged to some Cornerian prison! None of you can make me! Even if you did, the other Liberators’ll find a way to—”

“For God’s sake, you _idiot,_ they don’t want to throw you in a cell, they want to KILL you!” shouted James.

The hostile look in the boy’s face evaporated as straightened alertly.

“The Defense Fleet, Cornerian High Command, all the people up top?” James pointed to the roof of the cave. “They don’t care who the VLA are, who _you_ are, or what intel you’ve got. Normally, they’d never give rabble-rousers like you or your friends a second glance…but you’ve made far too big of a ripple to be ignored. You’ve made them look confused and unprepared on a bigger scale than usual, in front of the entire galaxy. The only reason they’ve sent me is to capture you and haul you back to where they can execute you.” He eyed the boy grimly. “ _Publicly.”_

All the color in the Venomian’s face drained, his voice thinning as his own lungs seemed to fail him.

“No, they—t-they can’t do that. They can’t kill me without a trial, I—”

“You think they’ll bother with that, after the black eye you’ve just given them?” The Fox shook his head all too knowingly. “I work with these people, kid—no one knows ‘em better than I do. And believe me: they care even more about sending out a message to Venomians everywhere than you do. Except they’ll use your corpse to do it.”

“No… _no,_ I don’t believe you…!” The anxiety practically dripping off his face along with his sweat. “This…this can’t be happening. They said that if I got caught, I’d have a trial…”

“Who’s ‘they’?” James asked sharply. “The Liberators who put you up to this?”

Rendered speechless, the Venomian’s began to dart around him, as he began to look more and more sickly beneath the dim green light. He finally locked eyes on the Fox blocking his path, voice crumbling with denial.

“You won’t turn me against them! They picked _me._ They said _I_ was special, they trusted me to carry out this mission—”

“You didn’t question their plan, did you? You just went along with it like a good little tool, and now look at you: Cornered, crippled, trying to outrun the entire fleet on your tail—all for what?” He demanded spitefully. “Was it worth killing the Chairman of Space Dynamics for people you don’t even know?”

Without missing a beat, all the indoctrinated malice returned to the Venomian’s voice. “I would’ve killed that Canine piece of filth even if I didn’t have an ounce of help! The company he ran produces more starships than any other in the galaxy…ships the people of _my_ sector are forced to build! He and that family of his _deserved_ what he got!”

James glares at him. “You’re not the one who gets to decide that.”

“Who does, then? _You?”_ shouted the Venomian. “You won’t stick up for us. You’re _Corneria’s_ guardian angel, not ours. You’re fine with us sufferin’ as long as the ships we make go to your precious Cornerian Fleet—”

“That has nothing to do with this,” James barked. “I don’t fight on behalf of madmen who take the law into their own hands.”

The Venomian nodded scornfully. “Then it’s just as well that I did what I did tonight, if you weren’t going to step up. You an’ your Dog friends can drag me off an’ have me executed, but I’ve done my family and every other Venomian in my sector a favor.” He trembled slightly. “None of them will ever have to break their backs on another ship design for that Canine scum again.”

James paused. “Is that what your friends in the VLA told you?”

Genuine confusion broke the young man’s face as he looked at the Fox strangely, while James sighed. _This is why kids like these make for such perfect recruits. None of them know how the world works._

“I hate to be the one to break this to you, kid, but starship giants like Space Dynamics have a hundred people lined up to take the place of the guy you just killed,” He informed him. “They swap ‘em out like I change the cogs in my Arwing. A successor’s probably been chosen in the time it took you to crash land here. All the people in your sector are going to be chained to labor for the rest of their lives regardless of what you’ve done.”

He watched as the fur on the Simian’s shoulders raised, probably from the nettling sensation snaking through it.

“Y-You’re lying,” the boy croaked. “T-They said—”

“Your liberator friends told you what you wanted to hear,” James cut over him. “They were probably using this assassination to send a message, nothing more. They picked the biggest, brightest Cornerian public figure they could find, and they manipulated the right simpleton to take him out for them.”

“They weren’t manipulating me!” The Venomian shouted, before his voice trailed off. “They can’t have…they…why would they…? They’re Simians, like me…f-fighting the same people…!”

The Venomian’s hands still clutched the empty gun defiantly, trying to find the words, or muster some kind of desperate excuse. As he backed away further, James slowly walked towards him.

“Your friends abandoned you, boy…played you for a fool. They knew you were desperate…you were hungry, depressed, frustrated. They tried to take advantage of that desperation.” James’ eyes probed him. “Or maybe…they promised you something. Something only their revolution could give you.”

Something James said must have unearthed something. The Venomian avoided all eye contact with James, fidgeting uncomfortably as the Fox’s eyes continued to unravel him.

“The Liberators told you that if you killed the Head of Space Dynamics, you’d make a better life for your family, didn’t they?” James leveled his eyebrows. “They fed you that line, and you bought it.”

Growing, helpless distress began to seep uncontrollably out of the feverish boy’s face, despite his brave attempt to contain it behind the raised barrel of his blaster. He opened his mouth but didn’t speak…all the excitement and revolutionary talk had depleted. His eyes dropped to the ground, the blaster wobbling in his hands.

James relaxed his hardened expression a bit. “You’re not as alone as you might think. They might’ve cut you off, but there’s still a chance to save yourself, even in light of everything you’ve done. If you just—”

“Stop talking like you give a damn about what happens to me!” The Simian suddenly shouted. “You think I don’t know what you’re trying to do? You only care if I die before you can get what you want outta me, _that’s all._ You only _want_ something out of me, just like the Dogs—and what better time to get it?” His voice started to crack miserably. “The sad, stupid Venomian brat, abandoned by his friends and with his back to the wall…now’s the perfect time to grab that precious intel from him while he’s at the end of his rope, isn’t it?”

James sighed. “That’s not what I—”

“STOP LYING TO ME!” The Venomian shouted over him. “We both know damn well that we don’t have enough in common for you to feel sorry for me.” He shook his head hopelessly. “You have no idea how much depended on things going right tonight. You’ve never spent a day in that factory, without sunlight, losing all sense of time in the sweat an’ fumes of that place…watching your mom and dad grow thin an’ frail next to you, listening to them lie everyday about having plenty to eat when you can count their ribs…” His grimy face wandered, lost in his own exhausted misery. “Do you know that’s like? Terrified of waking up one morning, and finding out the days of fumes and no food have finally got to them, and they don’t wake up? And now my _one_ shot at helping them is…it’s all…”

His voice failed him as a hoarse, rasping noise that was somewhere between a gasp and a sob locked is mouth shut. James’ face softened.

“You’re right. I don’t know what that’s like,” He offered quietly. “But I’ll tell you this. The worst thing you could do for your parents is to make the wrong choice now. Oh, play freedom fighter if you want…but when the CDF finally drag you off and give you a hero’s death on live holovid, you’ll have done something worse than just leaving your parents to that factory…you’ll have left them with nothing to live for. Let me tell you, there’s nothing worse for a parent than going on knowing they’ll outlive their child. That they weren’t the ones to go first…that they didn’t do something, _anything_ to talk you out of doing something this stupid, before it was too late.”

The misery and helplessness in the lines of the teenager’s face were suddenly smoothened out by a surprised look. “H-How do you know all that…?”

James fixed his grey eyes on him earnestly. “Because that’s exactly how I’d feel if anything had happened to my boy.” He paused. “And I’d like to think that Venomians feel the same way about their kids…despite what people say.”

That got the young man to stare at him dumbstruck confusion. The way the fox talked to someone of his species this was practically an anomaly, one he was still trying to wrap his head around.

“There’s still a chance I can help you avoid doing that to your parents,” James urged. “But I can’t do a _thing_ if you don’t cooperate…if you don’t turn yourself over to me.”

The young man shook his head hopelessly. “I-I can’t…the Dogs, they…t-they’ll kill me…”

James opened his mouth to speak, when something on the ground caught his eye. He moved towards the boy’s feet, causing him to flinch back in terror, only to watch James calmly pick up his fallen sunglasses.

“Wanting to kill you will be their first reaction, sure…” He continued. “But if they know you’re under my protection, holding a ton of intel related to planetary security? They can’t come near you, not without crossing some major boundaries. Once I make High Command recognize your value as a defector, I can start negotiating terms of exchange for your information. I could arrange a trial, maybe imprisonment. _Maybe._ It’s not much, but it’s the best option you have left after tonight. I know it’s not much…” He looked at him earnestly. “…but whatever I can get you, I’ll fight to get. You have my word.”

“How do I know you’re not leading me on, that you’re not full of shit when you make all these promises?” The Venomian demanded. “Even if you’re not Cornerian, you’re still one of their heelhounds!” 

James points his folded glasses at him. “Think. Would anyone else from my side bother to listen to your story?”

“That don’t mean nothin’. You could still be takin’ the piss outta me,” said the Venomian, with a dry throat. “This could all be a trap. How do I know I can trust you?” His voice leapt to a desperate shout.

James paused, stone-faced for a few seconds.

“You don’t.” He put on his glasses, a gleam shimmering down the black lens. “Just do what your instincts tell you to do.”

* * *

Across the rock bridge overlooking the green-lit chasm, the Canine Boy crept around the corner, spying from a distance on the two silhouettes that had sprinted into the same cave tunnel he did—knowingly or not. He couldn’t make out their faces in the dim cavern light, regardless of how he craned his neck and squinted at them. He had no idea what they were talking about, occasionally catching bizarre phrases he didn’t recognize like “Venomian” and “Cornerian.”

He’d never seen anyone like these two before, prompting him to sit by….terrified, but too intrigued to run away.

Then, he heard a sound that was all-too-familiar. That same rank, vinegar-like stench from before clogged his nose…

It made the Boy’s heart stop. He was already motioned halfway to start running when he realized something odd. The smell was coming from above.

* * *

“So, what’s it going to be, kid?”

The Venomian kept his gaze on the ground, watching his own sweat fall to the floor as he weighed his options in an uneasy, unconvinced silence.

“If I go with you, let you cuff me or whatever…” He offered his scrawny wrists, shakily looking up at the Fox for reaffirmation. “…the Dogs won’t do anything to me? You _swear?”_

“First things first,” said James sharply. “Tell me about whoever approached you for tonight’s job. You give me that, and you won’t have to worry about being safe. Not while you’re with me.”

Mountainous hesitation clamped the Venomian’s throat like a pinched straw. Slowly, the bulging, paranoid look on his face slackened. He took a shaky breath and nodded, more to assure himself.

“There was a guy on Reiaa Station—the one near Bolse. Said he was with the VLA.” His eyebrows furrowed, struggling to recollect it. “He gave me some rations and started asking me questions about my family. About what I would do to help them…”

“Who was he _?”_ James pressed him. “What was his name?”

His eyes lit up. “He was a Snow Monkey named—”

Before he could utter another word, a loud scraping and scuttling noise rattled the air.

Ears perking up at the sound, James searched the green-hewed cavern around him but saw nothing else on the rock bridge besides the Simian kid…no movement besides the geysers hissing plumes of smoke. He looked back, feeling the same confusion he saw written on the Venomian’s face.

Then, they both felt a current of air from the ceiling. Warm and moist like the geysers but riddled with a rancid odor, raking their fur at a slow tempo…like breath.

James slowly tilted his head upward and saw it: half-buried in shadow and half-lit by the green lava-bed was a creature he couldn’t recognize, with a long, bulbous caterpillar-like body the size of a starship hull, and plated skin just as thick. Feelers twitched and pincers clacked beneath its double-set of milky eyes, as it used its endless rows of legs to cling to the ceiling directly above them, peering down at an odd angle so that chords of its saliva dripped down.

James broke out of his shock long enough to shout to the Venomian. _“Get down!_ MOVE OUT OF THE WAY!”

The teenager remained rooted where he stood, transfixed by the horrifying sight.

_“MOVE!”_

James’ hand flew to his blaster, but it was too late. The Creature unhooked its legs and dive-bombed towards them, making him instinctively leap back and flatten down, the ground beneath him quaking as the bridge began to collapse under the sudden thunderous collision. Whirling around, he saw half of the bridge was gone…the Venomian and the Creature missing along with it.

A blood-curdling scream came from above. He looked up, and saw the Creature affixed back to the ceiling, curled up with its face out of view…using its huge pair of tucked, mantis-like forearms to gauge and lap up something in its grip. The Venomian’s shrieks reached a fur-raising pitch, cut short by the sickening sound of flesh stretching and bones snapping—

“NO!” James ripped his blaster out and fired desperately.

The red shots bounced off the Creature’s thick exoskeleton, but still provoked it to let out a guttural screech. It bolted in a serpentine motion between the stalactites and down into the black cavern depths.

James dove through the cave mouth, groping the side of his headset that bounced with his mad sprint.

“Peppy, Pigma, come in! There’s— _something_ in this cave down here with me, repeat, there’s something else down here!” He started. “I’m in pursuit but need back up, hurry—”

And then the dead static reminded him that they were far out of reach, thanks to him stupidly arguing with Pigma to go alone. Cursing himself, he frantically sped through one interchangeable tunnel after another, his hoarse panting ringing off the cave walls that were being dowsed by the stream of his flashlight. He finally slid into a respite seemed identical to all the others, dim and barely lit by the glowing geyser caps. Gripping his blaster, he tucked his breath under a clamped lip as he moved as noiselessly as possible through the geyser field, darting his eyes between the hot fumes for the next tunnel out. His heart raced while another part of him listened for that scuttling…or any traces of that smell in the air…

Then, he felt something cold and slimy, buzzing an inch above his ears—an insect feeler, just behind him—before diving to the ground into a roll he almost didn’t pull off in time. The Creature burst out of hiding between two hissing geysers like a maggot sprouting out of rotting bark, its scythe-like forearms almost claiming James’ bushy tail as they raked the ground and sank into it. James couldn’t even regain his footing; the monster had already ripped its forearms free and was storming at him. He frantically shuffled back on his hands rapidly away from the massive creature, barely wriggling out of reach as its forearms stabbed the ground, chiseling rock and spraying dust, as it worked exhaustively to impale him. As the gap between them began to close, its huge, snapping maw drew close enough for James to feel its rank, vinegar-like breath stifle his snout. Seizing the opportunity, James hauled his blaster up and shot into its open mouth.

_Shwa_ -THOOM!

Locking its forearms together, the Creature shielded its face from the blast. It hissed down at him, feelers thrashing the air…smelling him. James hobbled to his feet quickly, but creature’s scuttling advance towards him didn’t stop, even when it couldn’t see. The Fox backed away, scraping the wet cave wall with his elbow…realizing too late the trap that the creature had backed him into.

The creature closed in, about to lower its guard to spring its head and swallow him whole. The wall hitting James from behind sent a jolt to his spine. He darted his grey eyes about desperately, raking his mind for anything, any maneuver he hadn’t tried.

The forearms shifted apart, and the Creature’s twitching mouth sprouted open to let out a knifing screech as it lurched at him—and then there was a halt in its lunge. Its antennae twitched in the opposite direction, seemingly distracted. James watched in confusion as it directed its feelers to something behind it. Rearing its many legs, it swung its plates around…giving James a clear view of the absolute last thing he expected to see.

A _child…_ A canine boy, hiding, or attempting to hide, behind a bed of the nearby rocks.

It was so out of place it didn’t even seem real. James was in a confused daze, but the Creature didn’t wait. It swooped low to scuttle towards the child, making a ravenous new crackling noise as if hungrily recognizing his scent. Upon being discovered, the Child looked frightened to the verge of suffocating, his trembling mouth hanging ajar as if knowing he’d already be dead before he’d started running. His face darkened from the oncoming shadow of the monster’s mouth caving open above him.

James had no clue who he was, or where he’d come from. He just did what came naturally to him:

“HEY! _OVERE HERE!_ HEY!”

He shouted at the top of his lungs, firing random shots overhead, trying anything to lure the beast away from the Child. A shower of sparks exploded over head as one of the stray shots dislodged one of the stalactites, sailing downwards and embedding itself into the Creature’s back. It reared up and let out an agonized shriek, flailing its forearms as a yellow, syrupy substance began oozing out of its back.

James’ tall ears perked up alertly. There must have been a soft, fleshy, unarmored portion on the roof of the insectoid’s body…one that was out of the reach of blaster bolts. The Creature reeled at the splinter digging int its spine, staggering drunkenly and thrashing at James, who dove right down.

**SMASH!!!**

The jagged forearm tore a chunk out of the wall, sending a cloud of dust spilling over the room. James’ lean body rose out of the cloud on the other side of the beast, and he swept the Child behind him with his leg.

“Stay behind me!”

His voice ringing from behind made the Creature lurch around and rush towards them, its flurry of movement made all the more unsettling by the involuntary convulsing and expanding of its body from its gushing wound. Eyes already on the ceiling, James snapped his barrel up and let out a rapid stream of bolts, the falling spikes pushing through the creature’s skin. It shrieked and hobbled back, its rippling legs surprisingly careful to avoid a spot on the floor where the dust cloud seemed to sink into.

Not the boiling edge of a geyser….a crevice. James didn’t hesitate for a second. He moved in and fired, dislodging stalactite after stalactite with each shot:

_Shwa_ -THOOM! _Shwa-_ THOOM!

Yellow blood splattered the floor as more jagged rock plunged into plated skin. James stormed forward as he fired, the thud of his boots echoing between every shot. The Creature staggered farther and farther back, seemingly clambering about with its short arms, until the rear row of legs wriggled too close to the cliffside edge, slipping on the soaked floor. It went sliding back into the cavity, still writhing as it plunged into the planet core…before the last echoes of hissing and clacking died out.

James leaned on a nearby wall, letting the smoking blaster dangle from his numb fingers. He hadn’t had an encounter like that in years, much less that kind of terror. And if _he’d_ been that afraid—

That’s when James whirled around to see that he was alone. He almost became anxious, before he caught the soft, distant sound of breathing from somewhere nearby, interrupted by a gasp of pain. He saw droplets of blood trailing the footpath nearby, drawing him to slowly walk alongside it and turn the corner.

The Fox’s shoulders fell, along with the tension in his face.

Pinned up against the wall and shivering like a leaf was the little boy. The light was still too dim for his face to be fully visible, but his silhouette was unmistakably scrawny, and the fright in his purple eyes shone even in the dark. He stood ankle-deep in the cave mist, his hands rattling around what looked to be a small club chiseled from a stalactite.

James was struggling with what he was seeing, a hundred questions racing through his mind. But the frenzied look on the child deterred him from voicing any of them. He could tell from the way the boy darted his bulging eyes that he was going to run the second he saw a gap wide enough.

He softened his voice, trying to create a reassuring shroud with his voice, the way he used to do with his own son when he was little. “Hey….easy now, just take it easy. I won’t hurt you…” He lowered himself to his knees.

The boy raised his club even higher, his small chest rising and falling rapidly with every step James took towards him.

“Okay, okay, I won’t come any closer,” James said gently. “What are you doing down here? Are you alone?”

The boy’s face remained still, seemingly blank as he stared up at him. James frowned, wondering if he was being understood. Then to his surprise, the boy’s lips moved.

“Y-You killed it…” The feeble voice was barely audible, whispering like he still couldn’t believe it.

James looked surprised. “Of course, I did. He was going to hurt you.” His ears twitched alertly. “Are there more of those things down here?”

The boy aimed a nervous glance down the footpath behind him and swallowed fearfully, which James took as affirmation. His mind flashed to the many tunnels he’d ran through, wondering how many other feral life-forms were roaming down here…a thought that only made him stare at the boy even more. How did he manage to survive up till this point without being eaten?

“Listen to me very carefully. If there are others like that thing, we need to get out of here. Both of us. You’ll be safe if you stick with me, okay?” His warm smile faltered as he noticed the boy holding back a wince, before noticing the trickling red lines running down his hands. “You’re hurt. Did that thing do that to you?”

The boy squeezed his club, bravely attempting to keep his hands from trembling, but only causing them to further redden. James realized it in an instant: it had been _his_ blood he’d followed down here from the valley.

“Here, let me take a look…”

Upon his gloved finger coming within a whisker’s reach of him, the Boy scrambled back, flattening up against the rock wall and breathing frantically.

James sighed exasperatedly. “C’mon now, I’m not gonna hurt you, I promise.” Trying to endear to him, he removed his glasses. “Look, there’s nothing to be afraid of. We’re not too different. See?”

The Boy cocked his head to the side, the rigidness in his shoulders dissipating.

James offered a small smile, having mostly removed his sunglasses to playfully reach out to him. But quickly, he soon saw that it wasn’t relief disarming the Boy…but shock. His small bright eyes became a little more visible in the shadows as he leaned inward, studying James’ face, seeming absolutely mystified. For a moment, he looked to amazed to even speak, and then his gaze wandered down to the glossy sheen of the sunglasses in the adult’s hand. Even without words, James could feel the wondrous curiosity overwhelming the Boy, his gaze alternating between his own reflection in the glasses, and the face above him…seemingly blown away by the familiar Canine features the two of them shared. James furrowed his eyebrows down at him, wondering what could be so remarkable about that.

“JAMES! You down here?!”

A loud flurry of footsteps and ring of voices from somewhere down the tunnel made the Boy react in terror. He bolted, crawling under James’ arm to sprint past him.

“No, no, no, wait—! Damn it!”

James failed to reach out for the retreating grey blur, trailing after it down the tunnelway.

“WHOA!”

Almost on perfect timing, Pigma collided straight into him, the trajectory of his flashlight flying and his hand instinctively bolting to his holster. Upon seeing the fox, relief flushed back into his velvety face.

“ _There_ you are! Peppy, he’s down here!” He called back behind him, before exhaling. “Cripes, we didn’t think we’d find you. What the hell happened? We were both outside, and then we heard this ungodly screeching noise comin’ from inside! We thought—”

James rushed up to snatch him by his collar, hissing. “ _Shhh! Just_ SHUT UP _for a second!”_

Confused at first, Pigma’s face soured instantly. “Well, screw _you_ too, then! That’s the thanks I get for coming in here to rescue your ungrateful ass, is it, Mr. ‘Don’t-follow me-under-any-circumstances’? Should I have just _left_ you down here?”

A startled-looking Peppy turned the corner. “What’s going on?” His eyebrows slackened. “Please tell me you two aren’t back at it already, I swear.”

“It’s not ME this time. James is the one who started—”

“ _Be quiet,_ the both of you!” James glanced behind him, voice barely above a whisper. “There’s someone else down here.”

“Someone else? Who, the perp?”

“No…just follow me, and don’t make any sudden movements. Turn off your flashlights, too. They might scare him.”

The two wingmen exchanged bewildered glances, as James raised a finger to his lips and motioned them down the tunnel, where they followed him in a quiet lockstep. Past a crooked stone archway was a clearing where the green hues emanating from the cracks in the wall crept around a small silhouette cowering in the corner.

The Rabbit and the Pig’s mouths dropped.

“What on Earth…?” Pigma turned to James in alarm. “How…? Where…?”

“I don’t know.”

With the room’s illumination providing visibility at last, they could all see the cave child. He was of shockingly small build, much smaller than any wolf pup his age should have had, with downy fur that was of a quilt of bruises and scrapes The bundle of rags he was clad in might have been clothes at some point, out of which stuck his unkept plume of a tail. Layers of black soot that streaked his grubby cheeks, and his unnerved panting occasionally revealed small rounded teeth that were years away from being sharp. His anatomy was practically skeletal, with gangly limbs and a head disproportionately large atop his malnourished shoulders. In fact, his grey fur was pulled so thinly over his body that his ribs could be counted individually, and his feet had years of dry blisters from traversing the harsh landscape. And yet, frail and weathered as the rest of his body was, his purple eyes had so much energy: among the dim light and yawning tunnels, they seemed to hold the only spark of life in otherwise dead surroundings.

Just looking at him caused Peppy’s heart to ache, and the immediate sympathetic utterance of “You poor thing…” under his breath. Meanwhile, as per usual for him, Pigma reacted from his gut.

“What the hell?! Whose kid is that?” His bellowing voice sent a fringe of shock up the wolf boy’s fur, causing him to shrink up against the wall.

Peppy elbowed Pigma’s belly. “Will you keep your voice down, for God’s sake? You’re scarin’ him!”

“I’m scaring him?” Pigma exclaimed. “I’m not even the tallest person out of the three of us! Why would he be scared of me? This is ridiculous—HEY! C’mon out, kid we haven’t got all d—”

The Hare smacked a hand over the Hog’s mouth. _“_ Stop it, you hear me?”

But the boy was already shaking, rooted to the wall with his eyes scrambling around the room for some hole to hide in.

Peppy yanked his hand back. “Now see what you’ve done. You’ve probably frightened the poor thing…”

“You deal with him, then,” Pigma said annoyedly. “You’re the one who’s supposed to be good with kids…”

“Only because I don’t frighten them half to death.” Peppy then proceeded to kneel down, calling out in a leveled but assuring voice. “It’s alright, bud, none of us are gonna come any closer. We’ll stay right here… You can come out whenever you feel comfortable.”

“S-Stay back!” The boy cried out, raising his club. “Keep away from me!”

James was about to reach forward when Peppy raised a barring hand.

“We won’t do anything to hurt you, I promise.” He shot a scathing glare at Pigma before continuing. “None of us are here to intrude on your home, or boss you around—we just wanna help. But we can’t help you if you don’t come out and talk to us.”

“I don’t want any help! Just stay _away._ JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!” The boy shouted, voice trembling like he was on the verge of crying.

James sighed. “Look, we’re not going to abduct you. I just fought to keep that giant creature away from you. I wouldn’t have done that if I wanted to see you hurt, right?” The other two pilots shot him confused looks, to which he responded with a glance that said: _Long story._ But his words seemed to reach the boy, whose club wavered.

“You can trust us, bud,” Peppy offered. “None of us are gonna force you to come out. And no one’s gonna hurt you.”

Delicately, he placed his blaster on the ground and raised his empty palms as a peace offering, lowering himself to his knees. He gestured the others, who followed suit. Pigma grumbled as he dropped lower.

“We’re wasting our time with this kiddy nonsense. He’s not going to be less afraid of us…not if he’s smart.”

“ _Hush,_ Pigma,” James ordered out of the side of his mouth.

With silent caution, the Boy edged forward, his club still at the ready as he eyed the three men with a sense of curious trepidation, made all the more evident by the routine pause every few steps he took towards them.

“That’s it…there’s a good boy,” Peppy urged him gently. “Nothin’ to be afraid of.

The boy’s small, noiseless feet trudged closer. It seemed like his terror was dissipating the longer he examined the three strangers. Peppy, with his cozy maroon eyes and his gentle voice, Pigma with his doughy cheeks and amusingly-expressive face, and James, with his solemn grey eyes and deep voice… Meanwhile, Peppy in particular noticed something about the Boy as he drew closer, something that stood out prominently amongst his simple and assuming features: his eyes. They were wide with youthful innocence and shone with earnest, but there was something… _strange_ about them, even familiar. They had a piercing, regal air to them, as if genetically plucked off of some cunning ancestor and planted on his round face.

“W-Who are you?” The wolf pup stared at Peppy. “ _What_ are you?”

Peppy, finding that phrasing bizarre, pointed to himself. “I—we’re pilots, all three of us. I’m Pembroke Hare, this guy behind me’s Pigma Dengar…” He felt so strange hearing himself. He and the other two were so used to people recognizing them on sight that they almost never had to introduce themselves. “…and looks like you’ve already met our Team Leader, James McCloud. We’re the Star Fox Team, guardians of galactic peace.”

The Boy’s eyebrows furrowed. “Guardians? Are you guys soldiers?”

James crinkled his snout at the suggestion, but gave a conceding shrug. “Er…something like that.”

“And you?” Peppy turned to the boy kindly. “What’s your name?”

There was labored pause, with the boy clearly pondering whether or not he trusted the three new strangers enough to tell them.

“…Wolf. At least, I _think_ that’s how it’s pronounced.”

A momentary outbreak of startled looks appeared on the three adults’ faces, as if Wolf had said to had brought something back from the bowels of memory.

There was a brief furrow to the Hare’s brow, before he seemingly dismissed the thought. It was impossible, after all. “Wolf…that’s a good name. A tough name,” He added encouragingly. “Well, Wolf, you don’t have to be afraid anymore. Whatever happens, we’ll make sure you stay safe, and—oh, God.” His sentence slipped as his eyes traveled lower. “What happened to your hands?”

Wolf held them up nonchalantly. “I fell.”

Before he could say or do anything else, the Rabbit had already reached into his coat and produced some bandages, fretting anxiously. “Now, be very still for me, bud. I’m gonna try and make that better for you—it won’t hurt a bit—” He seized the boy’s hands before he could wriggle out of reach, prompting a fearful Wolf to start struggling and writhing with a tiny, rather unimpressive growl.

“Watch it—he’s a jumpy little fella,” said James.

Peppy calmly placed his larger gloved hands over Wolf’s smaller ones, hastily wrapping the bandages. Slowly, the boy’s wriggling winded down as the soft cloth began dampening the pain in his palms. “There, ain’t that better? It’ll have to do before I can back to my ship, and some proper disinfectant.” He grimaced the longer he wrapped, discovering more welts and blisters. “Good God, kid…what did this place do t’ya…”

Wolf, still looking confused, confronted all of them. “That sound, outside in the open…was that your ship?”

James rose to his feet. “The crash? No, that wasn’t ours…that was another ship. One we were following.”

“What were you doing here?”

“We’re on a pursuit mission. Someone we were chasing got loose down in these caves, so we came down here to arrest him…unsuccessfully.” When Pigma turned to him questioningly, James cut him off with a cautionary glance towards the boy in front of them. _“Later.”_

Wolf looked at them confusedly. “But what part of the planet are you from? Where did you get that ship?”

The question caused Peppy to halt just before the final knot of his wrapping, giving the boy an odd glance. “We’re not from around here, son. We’re from off-world…like you probably are.”

Wolf echoed curiously. “What do you mean, you’re from ‘off-world’?”

“We’re from Corneria,” said Pigma. “Well, that’s where we work, at least.”

Wolf sounded the word out. “Kone-ney-ri-ah.” An insuppressible smile broke on his face. “That’s a funny word. What does it mean?”

Peppy beamed as he saw a smile spring onto Wolf’s face for the first time. Such a warm and endearing smile, he thought, one that instantly lit up the dim cave around them. “It’s where we come from. Our home planet.”

“With that name? That doesn’t sound like a real place.” His eyebrows furrowed, unsure if they were making fun of him. “Where is it? In the sky?”

Peppy and the others looked at each other. “It’s on the other side of the galaxy.”

Wolf didn’t say anything. The stunned silence and look on his face embodied how astonishing the idea was to him. Concerned looks started being passed around between all three adults, before Peppy leaned forward, leveling his voice cautiously as not to let any panic influence the boy.

“How….long have you been down here, bud?”

The boy shrugged, pawing at his bandages curiously. “…S’long as I can remember.”

James looked at him inquiringly. “But why are you alone, on _this_ planet? Where are your parents?”

Wolf paused his fiddling and raised his scruffy head to look up at them blankly.

“Your mom, dad?” The Fox pressed him anxiously. “Brothers, sisters….anyone?”

He shook his head. “I’m the only one here.”

“Do you know why? Do you _remember_ why? Where they are, how you got here…?”

Again, Wolf shook his head. “It’s always been just me.”

The same, silent expression of doubt was passed around between the three pilots’ faces, with the soft, kind dispositions they’d been adopting to make the boy feel secure vanishing.

“Would you give us a second, bud?”

Peppy offered Wolf a smile before yanking James aside, out of earshot. “This doesn’t make any sense,” he whispered. “There ain’t supposed to be any life on Venom…any _people,_ anyway. And yet here this boy is. He’d have to have come here from off-world somehow…”

James looked over his shoulder. “Do you think he was left behind? Shipwrecked, separated from his parents…abandoned, maybe?”

Pigma cast a doubtful glance around the dim cavern. “C’mon, man, there are easier places to ditch your kid. This is the edge of known space…the literal middle of _nowhere._ You’d have to go out of your way to abandon your child here.” Bewilderment drew his stare back. “So why go through the trouble?”

“You don’t think…” Peppy pondered in a low voice. “…he was born down here, do you?”

“For God’s sake, Peppy, look around at this place,” James dismissed. “A planet like this would’ve devoured him as a toddler. He’d never reach this age without tripping into some abyss, or being swallowed whole by some creature—”

“So how the hell did he GET here?” Pigma hissed. “What hellish miracle landed him _here_ of all places?”

Wolf watched the group huddle of pilots bickering, ears curiously perking up to decipher what they were whispering about. Finally Peppy turned around, leveling his voice gently.

“Wolf, there’s something we need you to tell us—think hard, now.” He studied his round face carefully. “Do you remember being anywhere else besides this planet? Some place with the sun, with other people?”

Wolf looked at him puzzledly, before shaking his head. Peppy’s heartbeat quickened, growing more alarmed by the second.

“And what about all the time you’ve been here? You haven’t seen anyone, coming or going? _Anyone?”_

“I told you, it’s only ever been me,” Wolf insisted, wondering why nothing was getting through to them. “I’m the only one I’ve ever seen with two legs on this planet.” Hanging his head wistfully, he let his eyes wander. “I knew there had to be others somewhere—like me, I mean—”

“How did you know?” James interrogated.

“I dunno,” admitted Wolf. “I just figured, every other creature on this planet had a nest, with babies. The one I came from must’ve been somewhere…some part of the planet I couldn’t get to, some place above the skies I couldn’t reach. I’d look up at the sky and wonder if I’d ever get to see any.” His eyes fell on the Fox. “Then when that blue and silver ship landed in the valley, and you climbed out, I couldn’t believe it.” He looked at the others. “And now there’s two more of you.”

“Wait, back up a second…are you telling me that…” interjected Pigma, verbally shambling over himself. “That we’re the first people you’ve ever seen? _Ever,_ in your whole life?”

Wolf nodded brightly. “Yup.”

The worrying looks that had been creeping into the pilots’ creased and battle-weary faces gave way to utter shock. Peppy and James were exchanging dumbfounded looks, but Pigma was already exploding.

“Wh—? _Wh—_ WHA—Hold on…you’ve lived here your whole life alone, away from a single person in sight, and you’re…like this?” His stare traveled up and down Wolf in disbelief. _“How?_ If you’ve only ever been by yourself, how do you even know how to walk on two legs, how to feed yourself…how to _talk?”_

Looking confused, Wolf simply shrugged. “I dunno. I just…do.”

“What do you mean, you ‘just do’?!” Pigma bleated. “How can you even understand what we’re saying? How in blazes do you know what anything _is?_ Why do you know—no, _how_ do you know what a starship is, when you don’t even know what Corneria is?!”

Wolf didn’t respond with anything, the wave of Pigma’s voice causing him to shrink slightly. Seeing the look on his face prompted Peppy to mutter to the Hog quietly.

“Stop prying at him. Can’t you see he doesn’t know? There’s no need to make him uncomfortable.”

Pigma saw the effect he was having on the boy and relented his expression. “Alright, alright. Sorry for blowing a gasket.” His eyes pressed Peppy. “But c’mon, even you gotta admit how crazy this all is. You don’t grow up this far out from civilization, and talk n’ act like this kid does. It’s…it’s just…” 

“Look, regardless of what he knows, or how he knows it, he clearly doesn’t remember anything _,”_ Peppy said firmly. “And even then, we’re losin’ sight of what’s really important here. That he’s been down here for far too long.”

Wolf’s ears pricked up alertly, wondering what the Rabbit meant by that.

James nodded approvingly. “True enough. The Arwings have enough fuel to go into orbit—we can catch a freighter or passenger ship to hook up with.” He smiled down at him. “What do you say, Wolf? Ready to leave this gutter behind?”

Just hearing those words practically made Wolf’s heart stop. A startled look sprang into his widened eyes, looking like he’d just had an unexpected gift drop into his lap. He breathed in a voice that was barely audible, making sure it was him they were really talking to. “You mean…I can leave? I can go with you?”

“Of course,” said James kindly. “We’re not letting you stay here a second longer than you have to. Here—” He yanked his scarf off, and wrapped it around Wolf’s shoulders. “You must be freezing. Why don’t we head to orbit and call up a nice, warm freighter or passenger ship to hook up with and refuel. Once we’ve gotten our bearings, we’ll figure out things from there: where you’ll go, and all that…”

Peppy cut in sternly. “Not until we’ve gotten him cleaned up, and something proper to eat. I don’t even want to know what he’s been living off of down here…”

“Amen to that,” Pigma agreed. “Kid needs some proper Cornerian food—and I mean a real meal. None o’ that Instant Voyage Meal crap, I mean a proper meal.” Checking his comm. watch, his eyes lit up. “Y’know what would be great for this ungodly hour? Some Gelbra Breakfast Bay waffles with a tub of syrup. And a nice, fluffy omelet, with that drizzled cheese, and some poached salmon—”

“Hey, we’re nursing the _boy_ back to health, not you,” snapped Peppy.

“I _am_ thinking about the Boy! God, can’t we welcome the kid back into civilization with a proper breakfast?” Pigma sulked under his breath. “B’sides, it’s been a long night…”

While the two of them bickered, something clouded Wolf’s rejuvenated expression. 

“Will I have to come back ever again?”

Pigma broke mid-sentence to look at him. “Come back? Kid, after today, you won’t even have to look at this planet from a holo-map ever again, if you don’t want to.”

“Where will I go, then? To that Kone-ney-ri-ah place you all are from?”

“For now.” James lowered himself to the boy’s height. “Wolf…I can’t make any promises, but once we’re back within range of known space, I can send out an intelligence beacon to see if you have any family somewhere. Someone you might have been separated from.”

Feeling a newfound twinge of longing, Wolf jerked his head up. “Really?”

James paused. “Again, no promises. We’ll try.” He slipped his gloved hands around Wolf’s smaller one, as he often did with Fox back home after a nightmare or discouraging day at school. “But whatever happens, you’ll be free of this place: all those nights of looking to the sky, wondering if you’re the only one of your kind—you can put them all behind you, like a bad dream.” He offered him a small smile. “You’re not alone anymore…you’ll never have to be, for the rest of your life. That’s a promise I can make.”

His words wrapped Wolf in a warmth even more than the scarf around his shoulders. His grubby face became aglow by the same smile from earlier, made even brighter by the way his eyes welled up with comfort and relief. Watching the life return to the ashy and sunken grooves of the small face in front of James made him smile. Then, just as he was arranging the scarf properly around Wolf’s shoulders, he spotted the glint of something around his neck, peeking from inside his rags.

“What’s that?”

Furrowing his eyebrows, Wolf looked down, and fished the gleaming object out, revealing it to be of all things…a dogtag.

“Mind if I see it?”

Wolf instantly recoiled back, fingers shooting to his neck and fur fringing.

James put his palms up. “I’ll give it back! It’s too small to fit me anyway…”

With a reluctant pause, Wolf slowly dropped it into James’ much bigger hand. The Fox examined it keenly, rising to his feet.

“Peppy…look at this.” He beckoned the Hare with a whisper as he read it. _“Item #475956322 Blood Type O, Acquisition Date_ —what’s all this for? Military issue?”

Peppy eyed the inscription as he leaned forward. “There’s no military insignia anywhere. No CDF, nothing. But no military I know prints this kind of intel on dog tags anyway—”

“You wouldn’t find one in known space that does,” Pigma remarked, snatching it from him. “They don’t need this kind of stuff on tags anymore, not with DNA Scanning.” He handed it back to James. “It’s been years since anyone used these.”

James murmured. “So why leave this with him…?”

Just then, as he turned the tag over, his heart nearly climbed to his mouth.

“Guys…”

Pigma blinked. “What? What is it?”

James, seemingly transfixed, held the tag up to them. Peppy’s eyebrows furrowing, his maroon eyes darting over the inscription before immediately enlarging in shock. “Wait… Is this…?”

Pigma looked aghast. “My God. It…it can’t be…can it? I didn’t think he…”

Behind the huddle of tall figures, Wolf craned his neck. “Um…can I have it back?” He asked, looking a little cross. “You said I could have it back. Don’t steal it now.”

The three of them simultaneously turned their gazes onto him, and Wolf saw for himself the feverish disbelief that was draining their faces of color.

“Where did you get this?” James asked in astonishment.

Wolf perceiving their looks as accusatory, backed away slightly. Nowhere. I’ve always had it…for as long as I can remember.” He nodded towards it. “I can only read the first word. ‘Wolf’. The second one’s too long…”

“This is your name?” reaffirmed Peppy in a haggard breath, struggling to get the words out. “Wolf _O’Donnell?”_

Wolf nodded. “Yeah.” He glanced at all of them strangely. “…Why?”

Only the mist moved in the petrified air. The echo of his voice hung in earshot before expanding into the vast dark of the cave, and then the cavern was deathly silent.

The name rang in all of their ears…but in James’ most of all. The same way Wolf had looked into his canine features upon first meeting him, and found familiarity and belonging, James now stared at the boy and saw something himself. Disbelief ran down his spine like rainwater, as he darted his gaze over every part of Wolf from his jawline, to his cheekbones, to his round purple eyes...all of which possessed new meaning. The center of James’ chest became hollow. His chest heaved, but breath was impossible. His hand almost spasmed involuntarily, as he felt the shock puncture his face and render it numb.

Peppy asked slowly. “Are you sure this is your name, son?

“Sure, I’m sure. It’s _my_ name.” Wolf began looking around at them uncomfortably, feeling his fur prickle at the way they were staring at him. “Why?”

Emotion cracked through the doubt on their faces, drawing a disparity of looks from all of them.

Peppy looked startled, emotionally shattered, and overjoyed all at the same time, seemingly wavering between almost smiling and almost sobbing. Meanwhile, Pigma kept opening his mouth to form words that would never come, the jaded lines disappearing from his face for a rare instant. He stare at Wolf unblinkingly, as if afraid that he might disappear if he looked away.

Just before he could say something a beeping sound drew his attention to the plastic mold of his wrist communicator. “Grav sensors on the Arwing are picking atmospheric entry. A ship, by the looks of it…freighter flight signature.” He cleared his throat. “She’s flyin’ Cornerian codes. What’s our move? Should I contact them?”

James was frozen solid. He stared at the boy…devoid of the joy and excitement flooding the other two pilots, but every bit as shocked.

“James?”

The Fox flinched at his voice, seemingly snapped back into reality. He ordered Pigma without facing him. “Wait till we’re outside these caves, then send them a request for four passengers.” He was about to give an unsure glance at Wolf, then thought better of it. “Let’s get going.”

Wolf looked up at him. “What’s wrong? Is there something wrong with my name?”

James glanced back with a very different look than before. A new frigidity had taken over his stark grey eyes, seeming to withdraw all of the warmth and assurance they had shown the boy up till now. He gripped the metal tag in his hand, his fingers enclosing over the etched letters of the name printed on them.

“Nothing’s wrong, Wolf. Now, come on…let’s not keep that ship waiting.”


	2. Boundless Skies

_Chapter 2: Boundless Skies_

_**Rosette** _ _**-class LTL Passenger Staship "Panaesha"** _

After docking their Arwings in the spaceliner's hangar bay, the pilots managed to get Wolf into the elevator pod, which was now swiftly carrying them to the heart of the passenger's ship. It wasn't without trial and error: His bare feet were so accustomed to the jagged rock of Venom's surface that exposure to the smooth floor of the pod floor caused him to stumble like someone walking on snow for the first time. The bright, artificial lights on the ceiling, a far cry from the dimly-lit caves, meant he was rubbing and adjusting his eyes constantly.

But more importantly, Wolf began to take notice of how _strange_ the pilots were suddenly acting. As the pod carried them through a maze of winding shafts to the ship's main deck, none of them would speak to him. Outside of a reassuring smile on occasion, their air and behavior around was nothing like it was upon first meeting him. They kept eying Wolf with newfound grimaces, appearing unsure and even cautious. At several points Pigma opens his mouth in an attempt to say something to Wolf, but Peppy kept shutting him up with a glare, or hastily talking over to him. Every once in a while, the pilots would exchange rapid whispers with each other, attempting to bicker out of Wolf's earshot….but he caught James' deep voice several times, clashing against the other two:  
"Don't say anything until we've got a confirmation—"  
"Exactly. We don't even know if it's really him—"  
"He has to be. He's the spitting image, he's the right age...who else could he be—?"

Wolf pretended to stare off into the wall ahead—not so much out of politeness, but out a growing, fearful sensation that had taken root in the pit of his stomach, his mind racing with the possibility that they had discovered something wrong with him. Something that meant leaving him back on the planet below them.

He remained silent, too terrified to pursue confirmation by asking them. Freedom from that dark, empty place was something he'd only known for a few minutes…he wasn't about to risk losing that for anything.

The voices behind him crackled, and he turned to see Peppy, seeming to have gained the upper hand in whatever he was arguing about with the others, shushed them hastily before turning to him.

"Hey, uh, Wolf…bud…" He softened his expression, adopting the same light voice that Wolf was quickly identifying as the one they seemed to exclusively reserve for him. "We're gonna arrive on the Main Deck soon. It's a big place, and a lotta people'll there, but you don't have to be afraid, okay? Nothin' will happen as long as you stick with us. But I need you to do something real important for me when we get there. If someone comes up and starts talkin' to you, or asks you any questions, don't say anything—just let us do the talkin' for you, y'hear me? And whatever you do, don't say nothin' about being from Venom." He glanced at the sealed elevator door nervously before continuing. "That's super-important, okay?"

Wolf looked at him puzzledly. "Why? Is that a bad thing?"

Clicking his tongue behind his large front teeth in an uncomfortable grimace, the Rabbit paused as he tried to put it in a way that the boy could understand.

"It's, ah…somethin' real messy and complicated, bud. Folks around the galaxy don't really take kindly to Venom, or anyone associated with it. Lotta bad history that gets under a lotta skin."

"Pfft. That's putting it mildly," Pigma grunted.

Peppy shot him a glare, before fixating on Wolf. "Not a peep about where you're from. To _anyone,_ y'hear?"

Before Wolf could respond, the elevator doors open flew open, searing his eyes with more of those panel lights that he hated and prompting his hand to fly over them. When he could finally see, they couldn't have widened any larger.

What was simply the _Panaesha's_ Main Deck for the average person looked and felt like another world for Wolf. Bright, sleek, clean and compact—everything about the room was the complete contrast to the caves of Venom, a vast circular room seated beneath massive curved arches, in the vein of an elegant central plaza. The white walls, made all the more luminescent by the glare of the ceiling light panels, made the room feel like the internal chassis of some massive computer, in which everyone scuttled about. The galaxy map on the hulking display screen at the center of the room, blinked sporadically with dozens of planets and nebulas. Bright holo-ads adorned the walls, flashing garish colors and advertising all manner of interstellar destinations. The black tile floor was glossy as marble and had glowing tiles that sprang to life upon being walked on, but was barely visible under the dizzying number of feet. The deck was positively brimming with canine crewmen working diligently like ants. They were all clad smartly in variations of the same, crisp blue-and-white naval uniforms, each with glittering silver and gold stripes on their collars indicating some form of rank. Men in stiff officer uniforms barked orders at sweating engineers that bolted in and out of the deck doors, each guarded by security personnel that scowled beneath glass-visor helmets and plated body armor. All of them, regardless of rank or task, sported the same insignia somewhere on their uniform: a blue grid-sphere planet emblem adorned with three red stars, rising above a split olive branch and a large blue "C" circling its rim it like a planetary ring.

Other elevator pods like the one Wolf and the others entered through were sliding open on every side of the deck, Lylatian travelers pouring out and dragging personal cargo after them. They were all being greeted by cheerful dogs and rabbits in white uniforms, who upon being swarmed by new passengers would bob their heads helpfully and start sheparding them down hallways to other parts of the ship. Other passengers sat in lines of seats behind them, tapping their feet impatiently or consulting blocky brochure datapads in their laps.

Overhead, a cool female voice echoed throughout the glossy deck:

" _ **Attention, travelers. Please consult an attendant on Deck 13 to determine your starport. In accordance to Lylatian Travel Protocol, passengers with business in Demiosian and Katinese territories are required to have PS-8007 Clearance Codes. Exceptions will not be made for residents of those planets. We are currently experiencing delays and will remain in the Venomian Atmosphere until refueling is complete. Estimated time of departure is: 2 Hours and 43 Minutes. The Lylatian Travel Line appreciates your patience."**_

A loud groan shot up from the seated passengers. Then they went back to disgruntledly swiping their tablets.

James and the others just strolled in, paying no mind to their surroundings. Wolf didn't know how they could walk so casually past so many amazing things. He strained his neck to marvel at the dozens of species walking past—tall and short, fat and thin, sporting any number of fur or feather-styles. But what also fascinated him were the commonplace things, the kind of ordinary decal and tech of space travel that would never look the least bit out of place to the average Lylatian. But for Wolf, even the smallest thing was something to marvel at: the brass railing on each deck, the bright numbers on every display screen, the eye-popping colors on everyone's uniforms, the soft-looking leather seats lining the area, and the high-pitched lull of distant engines.

Peppy watched him out of the corner of his eyes, and couldn't help but smile as Wolf displayed the kind of curiosity and wonder only a child was capable of. It was like clockwork; something would catch Wolf's eye, causing his tall ears to prick up attentively, then he'd notice something else, sending his ears pricking up again.

"This ship is huge! D'you guys have one of your own?" He asked breathlessly.

Pigma glanced around them. "Like this one? No, but I'd certainly like one. James has been talking about raising some dosh for a mothership for years, but nothing's come of it so far..." His voiced slipped into an indiscernible grumble. "...Probably because the CDF doesn't pay us for piss. They barely pay us to keep the Arwings in decent shape, and they're already knockin' on ten years without the full-scale repairs they need."

James eyed him irritably. "Pigma, how's about we don't bore the kid with our financial problems? And refrain from telling the whole deck, while we're at it?"

Wolf blinked up at him confusedly. "What?"

Pigma sighed. "...Never mind, never mind. James is right…I'm just ramblin' about nothin'."

Almost immediately upon making their way onto the deck, the Team was greeted by an onslaught of voices ringing from across the deck.

"There they are! They've landed!"

"James is at the front! Get a good shot of him!"

"Mr. McCloud, over here!"

Pigma shielded his face disgustedly. " _Ugh._ As if this night needed to be worse."

Before he could even fully turn around, Wolf's his eyes were assaulted by the blinding strobe of flashing camera-bots, as excited-looking people with holovid recorders and news tablets raced up to the pilots, shouting over each other and bombarding them with questions. Peppy shielded Wolf from the camera flashes with his arm until a parade of armored security dogs barged through and started shoving the news hounds off, yelling at them to return to their seats. Passengers drawn to the excitement began poking their heads over the struggling media crews, holding up comm. devices and recording the Team eagerly.

Men in uniforms snaked through the wall of security, racing up to James with a salute in one hand and a glowing datapad in the other.

"Mr. McCloud, Tethysian authorities have spotted some suspicious cargo-running outside of Sector χ, intelligence suggests it might be VLA. The details are on this file, if you could take the time to—"

"General Pepper wants an update on the Fleet Ops report, Mr. McCloud. He says it's urgent—"

"Sir, Clarissa Danes from Corneria News Hour wants to schedule that interview you talked about this week, but that slot's already filled by the Planetary Times—"

"If you have a moment, sir, I've got a comm. The Academy's reminding you about the classes you promised to host on Thursday. What should I tell them?"

James was exhausted and fighting the influx of tired creases building over the rim of his sunglasses, but the average person would never know that with how he walked straight into the dizzying hailstorm of assignments and inquiries, rapidly addressing each one in snappy fashion.

"Cancel all interviews for this week. Get the folks from P.S. on comm., tell them I'll set up a meeting with them once I'm back. No envoys to Tethys till I check in. You in the back, tell Cornelius—er, _General Pepper_ that I'll have the report on his desk tomorrow morning, just tell him to make up to me at the next Defense Force meeting." He looked about, a bit dazed. "Am I forgetting anything?"

Someone in the back called out. "The Academy, sir. This week's maneuvering lessons, you said you'd take them."

Wolf looked up at Peppy curiously. "The Academy?"

"Just another part of our work. Stay very quiet, okay?"

"Okay!" said Wolf brightly, continuing to watch James address the strobing camera lights and overlapping voices, feeling a rush of admiration. It was becoming clear to him that his new friends—James especially—weren't ordinary, everyday people. They had to be famous, or at least very important to warrant attention like this.

A grizzled Terrier raced through the swath of uniformed canines, looking out of breath. _"There_ you guys are." He did a hasty salute under his round Lieutenant's service cap.

James returned it dismissively. "At ease, Henry. You know you don't have to salute around me."

"Yeah, but those roaches from the press are watching. They see any lax in army conduct, they start writing about it." The Terrier lowered his voice. "I've been looking all over for you. None of you have reported for hours, and Masterson and the other guys at Command are breathing down my neck!" His brow furrowed as he searched the group of them. "What happened? Where's the fugitive?"

The Fox's expression darkened. "He didn't make it."

The Lieutenant jerked his head back. "What? You let another Simian escape?"

"It's more complicated than that," said James exasperatedly, glancing around him cautiously before beckoning him closer. He began muttering to him, simplifying the evening's events in a hushed tone.

The Lieutenant gaped. "A _beast?_ Are you sure?"

"I don't know what it was…" James looked equally confounded. "God only knows what else is crawling down there. No one's set foot on that planet in whoever knows how long…seems like primitive life took shape in the absence of any civilization." He looked down, haggard and defeated. "Whatever it was, it nabbed our felon. Didn't leave a single trace of him."

"This is all crazy. None of you should've even been down there, that sector's restricted." The Lieutenant grimaced under his cap. "The High Generals aren't going to like this, even if they believe it. With the way you dove after this guy after the assassination, they were dead set on pinning him to the wall, especially with the ruckus he made on the news."

James responded coldly. "I think the CDF'll survive just fine going one week without making another media circus out of a Venomian's corpse."

The other man chuckled incredulously. "Sometimes I wish I had the nerve to talk about the higher-ups like you do, sir." He looked up hopefully. "Can I at least tell them that you got some new intel before you lost him?"

James sighed, shaking his head. "It wouldn't be the truth."

" _Oof_. Well, bad news or not, the High Generals are gonna want to hear about this. Expect a mess of paperwork from them when you get back to—" The Terrier's eyes wandered as he talked, before catching sight of Wolf's grubby face behind Peppy, which made him stop. "Who's the kid?

Peppy immediately stepped forward. "Recovered hostage taken by one of the Venomians during the assassination. He's safe and sound now."

"I wasn't notified of any hostage situation."

"Happened in the rush right before he fled the scene back at the plant," said Peppy, quite convincingly. "Y'know how these radicals love to make a racket."

The Lieutenant's shaggy face softened. "Well, at least this night wasn't a total loss, then. Poor little guy. Must've been scared out of his mind." He bent down, smiling at him. "Don't worry, son, you'll be home soon. You've been a brave boy tonight." He looked up at the Peppy and the others. "His parents must be in a wreck. Should I contact them to let 'em rest easy?"

"We'll do it. You take it easy."

The Lieutenant shrugged and offered them another salute, before another camera went off over his shoulder, prompting him to turn and yell in that direction. James promptly took Wolf aside, who had been too busy gawking at the rest of the deck to listen in on the conversation.

"Look, look! It's a robot!" He pointed at a Robo-Loader moving crates and fuel canisters on the other end deck. "And it's big enough to topple a ship!"

"Great, kid, just great. Here..." He bent down, unwrapping the bandages from Wolf's hands. "Let's change you into some new ones."

As soon as he was done, he stood and snapped his fingers to beckon the Lieutenant back to him, handing him the bloodied bandage and lowering his voice. "Do me a favor: get a genetic signature off of this and patch a long-distance transmission to Med-QRS. Tell them to start scanning for any familial matches in the memory banks. Use my jurisdiction code if they try to deny access—and be discreet about it. Go!"

The Lieutenant, looking a bit confused, raced off. James returned to the horde of fleet personnel.

"Yes, _yes_ —I'll see to all of your inquiries one at a time, but in order of _priority_ —!" He looked back exasperatedly. "Ugh, Peppy, you mind helping out here? I've got a mountain of these protocols, and only two hands to deal with them."

"On it. Wolf, I need to take care of some work-related stuff for a moment. I'm gonna leave you with Pigma for just a second, okay? I'll catch up with you both in a bit."

"Wha— _me?"_ Pigma yelped. "What am I gonna do with him?"

"Pigma! _Watch him."_

"Alright, alright, don't get your whiskers bent outta shape I'm doing it, goddamn it..."

Peppy called back as he squeezed through the row of deck personnel. "And behave yourself around him, you hear? I don't want to come back to find him talking like a foul-mouthed coot. We've already got one too many."

Pigma grumbled something inaudible, pulling Wolf from almost accidentally talking to some random officers and marching off.

"C'mon sport, let's find somewhere to sit. You're probably tired."

Wolf, still wide-eyed and absorbing everything, looked disappointed. "I'm not tired. I want to see more of the ship!"

"Yeah, well, _I'm_ tired, and you can't go anywhere on the ship by yourself." Pigma collapsed on a chair, shutting his eyes for the first time all evening.

Wolf sat down next to him reproachfully. "I can take care of myself, you know," he said, in his best attempt to sound capable. "Exploring the ship myself wouldn't be a problem."

Pigma shot a bemused eyelid open. "I already said 'no', kid."

"I've been in more dangerous places than this," Wolf grumbled.

Eyelids still closed, Pigma let out chuckle. "Kid, I've been all over across this galaxy, to nearly every planet in known space, and I can promise you that there are places a lot more dangerous than those little caves of yours."

Wolf's face lit up. "You've actually seen places like that?"

"More places than I can count." Pigma stretched his aching legs, scratching the stubble patching his girthy chin. "Sometimes I can't believe me, James n' Peppy are still alive at our age after some of the shi—er, the 'stuff' we've been through. But it comes with the job, I guess."

"What kind of stuff do you do?" Wolf asked, eyes round with excitement. "Have you've ever flown anywhere super-dangerous? How many people have you killed in your spaceship?"

Pigma cracked a smile. "Hey, calm your boosters there, kid. That's a lot of stuff that's way over your head…'specially that last one. It's your first day in the real world, for Christ's sake…you should be focusing your interests on other things, like makin' friends with other kids, or getting to eat _real_ food…not how many people I've vaporized outta their ship and flung into space."

Wolf's eyes became big. "Is that something you've done that before?"

Beneath his closed eyes, Pigma cursed himself under his breath. "That's not the point, kid. What I'm saying is—"

"Mr. Dengar?"

A new voice clearing its throat caused Pigma to shoot his eyes open, turning to see a stiff dachshund in a Carrier's Uniform standing over them both.

"Mr. Dengar, The CDF Transmission came back, with the fee attached."

Pigma straightened up in his seat, his tired lines evaporating immediately. "Alright! And here I was, thinking this mission would end on a sour note. C'mon, then, give me the good news."

"Well, Captain—given the circumstances, the CDF had to consider the nature of the fugitive," The Carrier informed him. "His, uh, 'killed in pursuit' status, I mean. Because of that, the amount had to be re-evaluated—"

Pigma frowned. "Something tells me all this diplomatic talk is gonna lead someplace I don't like." He stood up and beckoned the man to walk someplace out of Wolf's earshot. "Right, out with it. What's the damage?"

The Carrier paused, hands out transaction panel. "I'm afraid you'll be getting a third of your usual rate."

"What?!" yelled Pigma fumingly. "That's even less than last time! That's not enough to buy junk from a Macbethan gear peddler! What do you expect our Team to do with this, wipe our—" He halted mid-sentence, hesitant to start spilling headfirst into a boiling rant with Wolf sitting a few yards away and watching him shout with a curious look.

The Carrier held out the datapad, looking somewhat embarrassed. "My apologies, sir. I understand your dissatisfaction. As always, our Department of Service Member Affairs is open to any complaints or inquiries you may have."

Pigma's meaty hands snatched the pad from him. "Yeah, yeah, and they'll just give me a nicer version of the same story." He waved him off dismissively, voice at a quiet boil. "Just get lost. I'm too tired to deal with you right now."

The dog snapped an uncomfortable salute before marching off. Pigma shoved the pad into his jacket, grumbling under his breath as he stomped back to where Wolf was sitting and plopped down next to him. "Better make that ' _twenty_ years without full-scale repairs' on those Arwings."

Wolf blinked obliviously. "Did something happen? What got you so mad?"

Pigma half-smiled for his sake. "I ain't mad, kid. I never get mad…m'just tired, is all."

"Why? Is…" He looked back naively. "Did that guy say something mean?"

"You could say that. Sometimes this job…well, let's just say it isn't always what I'd like it to be. It certainly isn't the way it was back when I first joined up." His gaze wandered off, the longing in his voice almost bitter. "Forcing myself to climb back into that cockpit's getting harder and harder every day. Sometimes, I even hate it."

"Why's that?"

Pigma sighed. The boy would certainly be a change of ears, and wouldn't shut him up or dismiss his grumblings like Peppy or James did. He could've told him everything, vented it all out: how frustrated he was growing with the Cornerian Fleet, how things had gotten worse for the team, not better…how suddenly their lives became all about doing the grunt work he'd signed onto Star Fox specifically to avoid. He could have talked about how his life had devolved into all work, no thrills, barely any pay, and a lot less sleep…everything Star Fox didn't used to be.

But he didn't. The Hog grimaced, distant and disillusioned. Nothing would come out of dumping all of that on the boy. He wouldn't understand, anyway. He looked down at Wolf, finding himself envying the naivety in his round face, and how many years away from the doldrums of adulthood it was.

"Don't worry about it, kid. It's all just a bunch of boring grown-up stuff."

Before he could make another lousy attempt to sound reassuring, Peppy appeared behind them at a brisk pace. "Pigma, what's going on? I heard raised voices." He eyed him warily. "You didn't start one of your brawls in front of the kid, did you? He doesn't need that to be his first lesson of being back in civilization."

Pigma holds up transaction pad from his jacket. "CDF's beamed over our paycheck."

Peppy's wry look faltered. "...Oh. I see. I take it things didn't go well?"

"Went about as well as usual," Pigma reported gloomily. "You know how the CDF loves to reward its heroes. Especially now that they're older."

Seeming to absorb the situation with a glance, Peppy cleared his throat. "We'll talk about it later. Like James said, no point in boring Wolf on his first day out of those caves. Speaking of which, I stopped by a Refreshment Kiosk and brought you something, bud." His expression brightened as he handed Wolf a steaming paper cup. "Here ya go. This oughta put some warmth back into those cheeks. You're probably freezing to the bone."

Wolf sniffs it unsurely, darting his tongue over the drink's brim in a characteristically canine fashion. He gagged almost immediately, fur spiking and face crinkling at an onslaught of sweet, artificial substances on his tongue.

" _BLEGH._ What _is_ this?" He coughed, glaring at him crossly.

"Whoa, it's hot chocolate, not poison." Sighing, Peppy took the cup from him. "I guess with what you're used to eating, it's probably too strong for you."

Pigma plucked cup from Peppy's hand in the most non-discrete way possible. "Aw, well, whaddya gonna do? It'd be a shame if it went to waste." He gulped it down in one swig. "A _crying_ shame."

The Rabbit rolled his eyes. "You're an even bigger kid than he is, you know that?"

Wiping the line of chocolate from his upper lip, Pigma put his hands up innocently. "Hey, if the kid doesn't like it, the kid doesn't like it. Nothin' anyone can do about that." He developed a sly look. "By the way, if you end up taking the kid out somewhere nice to eat, let me know so I can come along…y'know, to be, um, _emotional_ support in case any of the food doesn't sit well with him."

Peppy glowered at him. "You don't need any more excuses to get any fatter."

Pigma's smile vanished. "Hey, watch it. I ain't afraid to give you a bloody nose in front of the kid."

Wolf was struggling to keep a straight face at the sight of the two bickering pilots, when he heard a buzz from Peppy's wrist. With his headset switched off, Peppy hit the slide button on his wrist-comm., and heard James' voice crackling through.

"Peppy, are you and Pigma still there?"

"Yeah, we haven't left the deck." He glanced around to see that James was nowhere to be found, and that the crowd of reporters and security guards had dissipated. "Where'd you…?"

"I'm in the Cargo Hold," James said immediately. "Listen, you both need to get down here, right away. There's something you need to see."

Pigma, listening in, shot a questioning look at Peppy, before the Rabbit responded. "Okay, then. As soon as we escort Wolf to a passenger cabin and get 'im situated, we'll head right over—"

"There's no time for that," James cut over him. "Have someone else do it. Just get down here as quickly as you can." Both pilots exchanged an odd look. They could both sense how thin and frail their Leader's voice was.

"Did something happen?" Peppy asked slowly.

"Something complicated's come up, about the boy…" A haggard pause staggered his voice.

Wolf, who was standing directly in earshot of Peppy's wrist-comm., looked up immediately. He kept his gaze away to look like he wasn't eavesdropping, but his ears were perked in alarm.

A grim, silent understanding passed between Peppy and Pigma, as they looked at each other with reformed expressions. They both refrained from turning to the boy next to them.

"We're on our way." Switching his comm. off instantly and cleansing his face of any apprehension, he beckoned a female Retriever in a white uniform over. He glanced down at the boy. "Wolf, this lady's going to take you someplace cozy where you can rest. You can trust her, alright? Just follow her, and everything will be fine."

"You're leaving?" Wolf asked, looking startled.

"We'll just be a few rooms away," Peppy assured him. "We're just going to another room to talk about some grown-up things. It won't take long."

He was already in the process of walking, when he felt a small pull on his coat. He looked down to see Wolf clinging to the ends of Peppy's coat, purple eyes fraught with anxiety and his round face trembling.

"P-Please, don't! Don't go!"

At first, Peppy just thought that he was exhibiting typical child's behavior, of not wanting to be left alone. But looking at Wolf's frantic expression made him realize that he was having a genuine panic attack, thinking that they were all going to abandon him. He didn't know what could have brought that about and wrote it off with a gentle look as just some childish, innocent paranoia.

Peppy gently plucked the boy's small fingers off of him. "C'mon, now. Didn't you hear what James said down in those caves? We all promised that we wouldn't leave you behind." He regarded him with an earnest look. "You trust me, don't you?"

Hesitantly, Wolf dropped his gaze to the ground and gave a small nod. Peppy gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

"I'll check up on you later, bud. Go on, now."

Hesitantly, Wolf trudged alongside the pilot escorting him by the hand, looking back at them anxiously and wondering if he had accidentally done something after all.

* * *

The sliding door shut behind the three pilots as they retreated into the small compartment several floors beneath the main deck. There was barely enough room to stand at full height within it, and not a soul with prying eyes or ears in sight; just the elbow-high mountain of green storage crates rattling in sync with the hum of the distant ship engines.

The second that the door shut behind Peppy, he and Pigma both finally let the excitement erupt from their voices.

"Well?" he asked. "Did the genetic archives turn up anything?"

Slowly, James turned to them, looking too stunned for words, holding a round holo-transmissions device aloft in his numb fingers. Pigma nabbed it and examined it, his brow unraveling and face lapsing into a state of rigid shock.

Peppy read his expression, feeling the air rush from his mouth. "It's a match, isn't it?"

Pigma exclaimed feebly. "…It's him. He's his son… _Maxwell's."_

The air became a condensed fever, with the echo of Pigma's words lingering in the air and seeming to hollow their way into all of their hearts. They had all ruminated the possibility in their minds throughout the whole shuttle ride from Venom, but hearing it confirmed, stark and real, snatched the breath from all of them.

Pigma was overcome with visible joy, sliding back against the wall behind him. His overjoyed face faded as he glanced worryingly at Peppy, whose maroon eyes were welling up.

"Peppy? You alright?"

Peppy turned from them all, barely able to form any words. He repeatedly felt the start of a million questions on the tip of his tongue, only to be scattered each time by the overwhelming tide of emotion. He made a muffled sound behind his fingers. "I…I can't believe it. I gave up hope years ago, spent so much time wondering what may have happened to him, and yet…here he is. Maxwell's little boy… _alive._ " His voice hiccupped into a watery, happy laugh that rattled the tears springing down his cheeks and dangling at the edge of his whiskers. "Y'know, when we were all rookie pilots, we used to joke that we'd never live long enough to settle down and have kids of our own, and now look at us all these years later: First my Lucy, and then James' young 'un Fox, and now…Maxwell and Kate's little boy." He looked up, beady eyes overjoyed. "Even if all of us didn't make it, our children did."

Standing out of the light, James clenched his fist. His distant look hardened as he swerved it elsewhere.

Pigma laughed gruffly, his outward happiness compromised somewhat by a rough and street-honed exterior that didn't allow for crying. "I can barely believe it, either. But how is it possible he survived what happened to Max? And to have been here of all places, all this time...under our noses..." Then, he paused. "Wait, then…does that also mean…?"

James finally spoke. "…Katrina must also be dead."

The burgeoning excitement in the room evaporated. A grim and mournful silence fell over all of them.

"Now, wait a minute..." Pigma started hoarsely. "She could still be alive, for all we know; after Max died, she _and_ Wolf disappeared together. I mean, we found Wolf here, maybe she's on the planet too, somewhere we haven't looked—"

"Look out there, Pigma," said James. "That boy's nine…ten at the most. How could she still be alive?"

Peppy let his long ears droop, looking haggard with grief. "James is right. Katrina would die before abandoning her child, let alone letting him grow up to that age alone and defenseless on a planet like Venom."

The air was cold and thin around them. Pigma, encumbered by the tight space and the feeling in his chest, slumped against one of the metal crates.

"But…why _here_? Why Venom of all places?" His eyes fell on the dogtag sitting on the counter next to James. "Alone with this thing, with no idea of who or where he comes from, yet somehow able to speak like he grew up on a Cornerian city block…so much of this doesn't add up." He sighed hoarsely. "To think that the only world he knows is that black pit down there…away from warmth, from _people_ …"

His gaze wandered past the ground.

"There's so much Wolf needs to know. About his mother and father, about where he comes from… So much for us to let him do, to—"

Peppy's head swerved up instantly. "That's precisely what he _doesn't_ need right now," he said. "Put yerself in his shoes, Pigma. He's lived his whole life isolated, cut off from the rest of the galaxy…he's barely ready for the world, much less ready for the truth. We don't need to shoulder him with that burden on his first day out of those caves." He swallowed deeply. "We can't tell him about his parents….not when we don't know what kind of damage it'll do to him."

"I dunno," said Pigma. "Think about how long he was down there. He might be damaged already. …"

"You don't know that," Peppy said defensively. "Maybe there's still a chance for him to adapt, to mold into the person he _would've_ been if hadn't been stranded there…if he'd had the chance to be normal. We should at least give him that chance."

Pigma raised his eyebrows. "By pretending that we don't know anything. By lying to him."

"He might see it that way when he finds out. He might even resent us for it when he's older." Peppy's shoulders sank desperately. "But I just…wanna give him a chance to be happy till then."

The Hog's look softened. "I know you do, Pep. Still, even if he never finds out, childhood's gonna be an uphill battle for him anyway. He's gonna have a hard time adapting…being in a normal society, mingling with other kids…"

Peppy paled. "Are we sure he's ready for that?"

"Well, we're dancing around the big question, aren't we?" Pigma looked at the other men in the room. "Now that we've found him, what are we gonna do with him?"

Peppy looking down at glossy floor, searching his own worn face for ideas. He pawed at his whiskers absentmindedly, as he always did when he was lost in thought.

"I…I don't know. We gotta be mighty careful how we go about this. This is ain't any ordinary child we're talkin' about. His whole future depends on us."

"Well, we're headed to Corneria, aren't we?" offered Pigma. "I don't see why we can't look for a decent home for him. He's a cute little tyke, and I'm sure there's some family that would love to—"

"What, are you out of your mind, Pigma? Just look at him!" said Peppy irritably. "He's been cooped up on this planet for so long, he barely knows the first thing about civilization—he barely trusts us as it is, and you want to toss him to some family of strangers? How well do you think that'll turn out?!"

"Alright, alright! No need to get huffed up. It was just a thought…" His voice retreated defeatedly, before he slowly started it up again, trying to sound helpful. "But we could still find some place nice for him, can't we? Y'know…maybe a family that can handle a kid with 'special needs', or whatever?"

The Rabbit shook his head as he paced about. "You really think there's a family in a thousand lightyears who would take him the way he is now? Adopting a boy his age is already a hard sell—now compound all of that with all the cave livin' he's done, all the moldin' he needs…" He stopped. "Worse yet…even if we _do_ find someone who wants him, the kind of parents he could end up with is its own gamble. They could be impatient with him, demanding…" His maroon eyes became anxious. "…even cruel."

A rare look of sympathy drew out of Pigma's quarrelsome features. "What do we do, then? Who do we leave him with?"

After interrogating the glossy floor for a few moments, Peppy's eyes lit up.

"We don't leave him with anyone." He straightened determinedly. "I say _we_ take him in."

James jerked his head up instantly.

Pigma's confused look swerved around the room, before returning to the Rabbit. "Hang on, you mean—'we' as in one of…?" Immediately, his hands shot up in protest. "Oh, no. No-no, no, no, no. Don't look at me—this whole child-rearing thing is _your guys'_ thing, not mine."

"It wouldn't have to be just one of us," assured Peppy, trying to ease him into it. The three of us could do it. Just hear me out: we could take turns raising him."

"We're _pilots,_ Peppy, not godmothers," said Pigma. "How are gonna find the time to work him into our lives, anyway? We already have our hands full with missions, Academy duty..."

"That's just it—we could work _around_ that," Peppy said hastily. "We could handle it like our old witness protection training. If one of us is busy, the other could take him. We all could pitch in what he needs, bounce the responsibility off between each other."

That prompted Pigma to pause. "Hmm, when you put it that way…that could actually work. Yeah…yeah, it could." His expression changed, seeming to gradually come around to the idea. "You 'n James both have kids of your own…so he wouldn't have to grow up alone…"

" _And,_ we could do it all properly, with the privacy Wolf needs," Peppy added excitedly. No meddling social workers, or bullying kids to pick on him. We could help him adapt at his own pace; show him the world he's never seen bit by bit. Make him ready to face it himself. The three of us could give him the upbringing he should've had."

Pigma smiled. "You know what? That's a damn fine idea. I say we do it. And it's what he deserves, too…" He extended his arms heartily. "He's spent way too much of his life down in that hellhole, with no one there for him…"

"…and now, he can have _three_ parents instead of settling for just two," Peppy finished for him. "We could _all_ be there for him."

Pigma nodded approvingly. "And it's what Kate and Max would've wanted for him. We could make things right, for _them."_

Peppy beamed. "Exactly!" He clapped hands together happily. "Oh, there'll be so much for us to do! I could refurnish Lucy's old nursery room…and her old swing's still in good shape!"

"James and I could teach him dive ball, and speeder riding—just like we did with Fox!" Pigma added. "He'll get such a kick outta that!"

Peppy's voice seemed to race on without him. "I could take him to the Fichinese Mountains and show him how to fish—Oh! We could take him on a road trip to the Inari Arches on the seafront! And what about his birthday? We have _nine_ to make up for!"

Their excitement and laughter churned the air in the room, before slowly dissipating as they realized how deathly silent James was. He stood rigidly in the corner of the compartment with his arms folded, barely moving outside of the periodic rising and falling of his shoulders, seething almost inaudibly behind a clamped mouth. The two pilots' smiles immediately faded at the sight of the murky expression on their Leader's face as he stared off into nothing.

Peppy knew that look only too well and didn't need to see past James' sunglasses to know how scaldingly he was driving his gaze into the ground.

He acknowledged him, tentatively breaking the stillness in the room. "You're not saying much, James."

James barely turned to them. "I don't know what you're expecting me to say. What, you want me to be dancing about and frolicking like the two of you?" Quiet anger was brewing in his voice. "I don't even know how you can stand there and celebrate the son of one of our worst enemies surviving, much less get giddy about playing nursemaid for him after everything his father did."

Pigma looked shocked. "C'mon, Jim…that was a long time ago. Surely by now—"

James locked on him sharply. "By now, what? None of it matters anymore?"

Peppy's eyebrows furrowed at the sudden spike in his friend's voice. He watched as Pigma paused cautiously. "That's not what I said—"

"But it's what you meant," James cut him off heatedly. "Do you think however much time has passed changes a damn thing? Have you already forgotten what Maxwell did to all of us? The suffering he caused, the lives he ruined? Maybe time has allowed _you_ to forget, Pigma, but I haven't forgotten a thing!"

Pigma's voice started again slowly, from an imploring place. "Jim…no one's denying what Maxwell did, but he was our friend before all that—"

"What he was 'before' doesn't matter! All that does is what he did afterwards, what he became."

"But, James—" Pigma protested.

"I'll tell you what we're going to do." James turned his gaze and wrath on him. "We're going to hand the boy to the authorities. Then we're returning to CDF HQ for a debriefing on tonight's mission. That's our only duty for the night. What happens to him after that isn't any of our business."

Pigma stared open-mouthed. "'Not our business'? James, that's Max's son!"

"Exactly," James snapped. "You want to talk about what he deserves? Keep him somewhere where he won't pose a threat to anyone— _that's_ what he deserves."

Not waiting for either co-pilot to utter another word, James stormed past both of them and out the sliding door. Pigma's mouth was still hanging ajar as he watched the direction in which he left. He turned to the Rabbit bewilderedly.

"What the hell's gotten into him?"

Peppy, who had been absorbing every word of James' this entire time in complete silence, slowly straightened up. Before his wingmate could motion any closer to the door, he barred him with a gloved hand.

"Hold up. Let me talk to him. Just…go to the Engineering Room and make sure everything's up to snuff."

Pigma looked at the door dubiously. "I dunno, Pep…you heard the tone of his voice. That sounded like an order to me."

Peppy didn't say anything, with only one thought on his mind as he eyed the door with heightened suspicion: _Since when did James' orders become declarations instead of something we all weigh in on?_

James was still at the other end of the hallway when Peppy slipped out the door after him, straining to keep up with his ferociously brisk steps. James' brown-tipped ears perked at the sound of the quiet footsteps behind him.

Before the Rabbit could say a word, James barked at him without turning. "Whatever it is, I don't want to hear it right now."

"James, I know what this is about," Peppy ventured quietly.

"Funny. I don't remember asking you to dog after me and start prying," James snapped.

Peppy hid his sense of alarm, tiptoeing around the jagged hostility in James' voice. "Prying? James, that's not what I'm doing. I just want to talk."

"There's nothing to talk about," James snapped.

He walked faster, something igniting his pace.

Peppy narrowed his eyes skeptically as he kept up with him. "You've been acting strange ever since Wolf told us who he was. I saw it the second you saw what was on the tag. It's been on your mind the whole time, hasn't it? You, and Maxwell?"

James' cheeks tensed as he clenched his teeth behind his closed mouth. Suddenly, the tired lines and bruises that had molded into his face over the years started to grow clearer, as a shadow passed over them. Whatever memories were racing through his head, he was clearly struggling under the weight of them. Every sound, every traumatic word, every haunting element of what had happened…all those years ago…

Then, his face tightened into a restraining scowl. "I'm not discussing this right now. Our only job is to deliver him to civilized space. Wayward children aren't in our field of jurisdiction, they're handed to the Cornerian Authorities." He looked past Peppy dismissively. "I'm going to page Civilian Affairs to get things in order for when we land. We give him to them, and that'll be the end of it."

"That's not just _your_ decision to make!" Peppy protested.

James' boots slid to a halt in front of the elevator pod bookending the hallway. "The hell it isn't. I'm doing what I should have done long ago." He jammed the elevator button angrily, voice lowering to a smoldering tone. "Banishing the O'Donnell family out of sight and out of mind, before they can cause anymore suffering to anyone else."

Peppy's eyebrows furrowed. "What exactly are you afraid is gonna happen if we take him in?"

James jerked upright like he had been singed, looking at him with a sense of incredulity. "Gee, I don't know, Pep, can _you_ think of any potential issues that might come about with raising the son of a murderer? Seems pretty fucking straightforward to me."

An insuppressible scoff escaped Peppy. "You don't honestly think that just because he's Maxwell's son that he'll grow up to be—?"

"That's exactly what I think," James growled. "And so would you and Pigma if either of you had any sense at all. Instead, you're parading around, jumping with joy at the prospect of raising Max's kid." His voice was rippling with scorn. "Tell me, do you two feel any shame, swooning over the happy life you'll give that kid, spitting on the graves of everyone who suffered at the hands of that scumbag father of his?"

"He's just a boy!" Peppy insisted. "Wolf doesn't know about any of that—"

The elevator doors flew open, and James stormed inside. "He doesn't _have_ to know anything about where he comes from to follow in the footsteps of his bastard father!"

Before the metallic doors could lurch shut, Peppy held it open, pleading through them as they rattled beneath his fingers. "Why're you talkin' like this is all set in stone? Just because he _can_ end up like Max doesn't mean he _will!"_

"Oh, really?" demanded James heatedly. "And what's going to prevent him from turning out the same, exactly?"

" _Us."_

Peppy looked around him to make sure no one was around to step in with them, before slipping into the elevator pod himself and jabbing the 'hold' button.

"Look, we can't change the things that Max did…" He took a deep breath, trying to purge all franticness from his voice as he implored the reflective sheen of James' glasses. "But why can't we try to change his son for the better? We can raise him _right._ Teach him the right lessons, set him on the right path…make sure he doesn't end up the same way—

" _No,_ you can't." James bashed the elevator button, springing the compartment into movement, and jabbed a gloved finger at him. "That's what you and Pigma don't understand. No. You. Can't." His voice embedded every word into the Rabbit. "There isn't a 'right path' for someone—some _thing_ like him. He's not just another one of those kids you teach back at the Academy…what's wrong with him can't just be coddled away, with you patting him on the ears or chiding his mistakes away."

As the elevator pod slowed to a hobble, James lowered his head dubiously, his voice simmering down.

"I know what you're trying to do, Peppy, believe me. But it won't sway him…any more than it swayed his father," He murmured, almost more to himself. "Everything wrong with him is baked into his genes...apart of his nature, his blood. There's no changing what he'll grow into…any fmore than there's any saving a ship that's already going down in orbit. You can't change where it's heading, or the speed in which it's crashing. All that you can do is destroy it…before it destroys anything else." His voice trailed off into silence. Then it hardened back into a low growl. "We do that by keeping that boy away from other people."

Peppy stood there silently, a knot of horror and disbelief worming inside of his stomach. He watched all of the hatred pour out of the fox's face as he spoke, completely aghast as to where it was coming from. In all the years he'd flown with him, Peppy had never once seen him like this. There wasn't a person in the galaxy James would turn his back on…no one he wouldn't try to help, or try to understand first. He'd watched him reach out to complete strangers, to enemies they had been ordered to kill. But now, with this boy, James wasn't willing to do _any_ of that. He was practically shaking, eyes practically searing through his dark sunglasses. It was like Wolf specifically had reopened something...gashed open a wound that James wanted to stay closed.

The fox's frigid voice snapped him back to reality. "We're not going to stand idly by this time," he said. "Time is on our side. If we have a chance to intervene, before he grows up to be like his father—"

" _If_ he grows up to be like him," Peppy cut in. _"_ You're not listening to yourself, James. You've already decided what he'll grow into, what kind of damage he's going to do—"

"One of us has to act like an adult and assess the situation!" James turned savagely, discarding his quiet tone. "It's not my fault that you and Pigma are too detached from reality to see that boy for what he really is!"

Peppy shook his head. "This isn't like you, James. It ain't like you at all. You were kind to him down there, saved his life—and now you're actin' like he's not even the same child."

"That was before I knew who he was," James snarled. "If I had known that he was Maxwell's spawn, I would've never lifted a finger to help him."

Peppy felt his heart drop, scarcely believing what he'd heard. "For God's sake, do you _hear_ yourself?! You're talking about a boy...a child!"

"You know damn well that he's not just anyone's child!" James snapped. "That bloodline is a cancer; it destroys everything it touches. _Everything…_ And I'm going to make sure it doesn't bring any more harm."

Then Peppy saw it. It was only there for an instant, and he almost missed it: the look of vindication in his Leader's face, one that was almost ravenous. Upon seeing it, his soft features suddenly hardened in a way that was not at all characteristic of him.

"Is that what you tell yourself to make you feel better about what you're doin'? Dumping a grudge on a boy's shoulders?"

James' face went noticeably rigid behind his glasses. "Don't mix subjects. That's not what this is about."

"Bullshit it's not," barked Peppy. "Y'think I don't know what's really going on? This has nothin' to do with whatever risk Wolf poses, or what he'll grow up into." Realization heated his maroon eyes. "This is your way of getting at Max. This is your way of punishing _him,_ isn't it?"

"Don't stand there and act like that boy has nothing to do with this," James snapped. "I'm doing what's necessary, to keep people safe."

Peppy's fur bristled. "You're being petty and childish, is what you're doing. You're using all of this as an excuse to condemn a boy you barely even know yet—"

"I don't have to know him," James savagely cut over him. "His father and I got plenty of time to know each other before he was even born."

"What Maxwell did to you has nothing to do with Wolf!" shouted Peppy.

James swerved to him in the tight compartment space, hurling his words into the Rabbit's face. "You think this is about me? Maxwell can't hurt me or anyone else anymore, Peppy…he's _dead._ This is about that boy might become if he's allowed to grow up and be around normal people! He needs to be kept away… _far_ away!"

"So, that's it, then. That's the new life Wolf gets to look forward to, is it?" Peppy demanded. "Leaving that abyss of a planet behind just to be isolated from the rest of the galaxy some more?" He shook his head up at him. "I don't know how you can do that to him without bein' disgusted with yourself."

The elevator doors flew open, leading to a brightly-lit white, contrasting the huge viewports that were pitch-black and wreathed in the thick smog of the Venomian atmosphere.

James stepped out, leaving Peppy inside dismissively. "Stay upset, then. You'll thank me later, once you and Pigma have woken up from your farcical delusions of him being a harmless little kid." The black lenses perched on his snout locked on the door leading to the communication room on the opposite end of the hallway. "This conversation's over. We're handing him to child services. The _second_ we land."

Standing worldlessly in the open elevator, Peppy watched him walk off with a stunned look plastered on his face. He began to dart his gaze about helplessly…and then he straightened up.

"Then I'll raise himself I have to."

James stopped mid-stride like he'd been jolted. He swerved around an instant. "What?"

"I'll sign whatever's required to adopt him," Peppy said with a new defiance as he stepped out. "I've already had a head start raising a kid of my own…even a few years ahead of you. I've got a good idea where to start with Wolf." He raised his chin at him frostily. "Since you seem pretty hellbent to avoid the boy at all costs, I'll make sure to raise him far away from you."

The disbelief in James' face caused his mouth to partially slip open. He was not a stranger to having his decisions questioned or challenged, especially with the frequency in which he and Pigma butted heads. Being defied so unapologetically, however, was a sting Pigma hadn't inflicted upon him in years…and one that Peppy, someone who took his side in practically every ordeal, had never done.

James fixed a glare on him. "You'll do nothing of the sort. I forbid it."

"What I decide to do as a citizen is outside of your jurisdiction, James," said Peppy. "You may outrank me when it comes to the Team, but not anywhere else. I'm doing this, with or without your approval. If you look at that boy and only see Maxwell O'Donnell and all the scars he's inflicted on you, then fine. But that doesn't mean the rest of us have to."

James curled his lip scornfully. "You've completely lost it. You're letting your sentimentality blind you…like you always do. You're letting it blind you from seeing that boy for what he really is…for what he'll grow up to be."

Peppy stood taller. "He deserves to grow up and decide whether or not he wants to go on that path himself! Not you deciding it _for_ him!"

James sucked his growl under a dry breath, looking fed up as he stood next to the observatory window. His gaze retreated to the glass, speaking quietly instead of catapulting his voice into more shouting.

"Stop for a moment and think about what you're doing. Let's say you go through with this farce…that you live out this delusion." The scenario shimmered back at him through the viewport. "You start raising him, and then what? When he starts showing all the bad signs, the _dangerous_ ones, what are you going to do? You want to endanger innocent people on the slim gamble that he won't turn into a despot like his bastard father? When he starts veering off course, are you going to keep him in your house?" He eyed him. "Around your daughter?"

"Let me worry about that," Peppy dismissed. "I've worked with plenty of children…and a fair share of troubled ones too."

" _Regular_ children, not the sons of murderers, traitors, felons…" James corrected him quietly. "What's your firm voice and patient guidance going to do when he grows up to be just like his father? When he starts wreaking the same carnage...?"

"You don't know that he will," Peppy said firmly. "None of us do. There's no—"

James cut in savagely. "No guarantee? Is that really the hill you want to die on? The excuse you're going to cower behind on the day when Wolf eventually snaps…?"

"At least I'll be trying to help him!" Peppy glared at him. "Whatever happens, I won't just give up on him like you!"

"You can stand there and act like I don't have a reason to," James muttered. "You're in such a rush to take this kid in, expose your home to the risk, put everything on the line for _Maxwell's_ child of all people…" He stared out the viewport, past his reflection and the atmospheric haze. "You knew Max just as well as I did…you saw firsthand how he repaid us, in spite of all we did for him…" He turned back to him. "You remember just as well as I how he'd only think of his own skin, how he'd be willing to turn tail and abandon all of us at the precise moment the odds were against him…"

Peppy's eyes wandered uncomfortably.

" _Look_ at me, Peppy," James ordered, driving the point of his gaze into him. "And seriously ask yourself: everything you're doing for Wolf, do you think Maxwell would've done the same for any of our children? Do you ever remember him being that selfless, even when he _was_ friends with all of us?"

At that moment, Peppy's expression shambled. He had no biting retorts or defenses to counter with.

James nodded spitefully. "That's what I thought."

He resumed walking, moving past his friend's drooping long ears and defeated expression. Then, Peppy raised his head.

"What about Kate?"

James didn't break pace. "What about her?"

"Wolf is _her_ child, too, James," Peppy said after him. "Turning your back on him might be your way of punishing Maxwell, but you're punishing her too. You're making her child suffer because of a grudge that happened between you and her husband. Is that what she deserves?"

James stopped an inch outside of the automatic door. A contorting scowl unraveled below his glasses, his hand tightening into a fist.

If only Peppy hadn't said that in the scarce few seconds before he was fully out the door. Then he could've walked out, callous and uncaring, without an ounce of the guilt now locking his legs in place.

The Rabbit watched intently from behind, petrified as to whether or not his words had even left a dent…only to be surprised when James' shoulders started quaking underneath his white commando's jacket, as he drew an aggravated breath and swept off his sunglasses.

"You're not going to listen to me, no matter what I say, are you? The boy's made his way into your heart, just like every other kid does…"

He let out a long, venomous sigh without turning.

"Fine. Have it your way, then."

Peppy blinked, taken aback. "What?"

"If you're so desperate to make that kid your problem, have at it. Nurture him, be kind to him—do whatever you think you won't regret it later."

Peppy stared at him, partially relieved at the victory he had managed to salvage…but also somewhat unnerved to hear James actually agreeing with him.

In that instant, James turned his unshielded, stormy grey eyes over to him. "But mark my words: Whatever man that child becomes, whatever he grows into, it'll be on _your_ conscience, Peppy...yours and nobody else's." He leveled a cautionary finger. "You invited this plague to our door, and you'll be responsible for everything it corrupts."

Turbulence gently rattled the glass pane. The panel lights flickered as the ship rose through the atmosphere, and the fueling shuttle assisting with its departure drifted past the viewport. Giant yellow wing blinkers shot a searing glare through the glass pane, causing hazy light to spill over the two men.

James' eyes cast a warning look. "Give it a short few years and you're going to wish you'd listened to me tonight."

Peppy watched as he slid his sunglasses back and changed direction back towards the elevator pod. As he was walked past, his voice stopped him. "James…"

The Commando Pilot's boots slid to a halt.

"All of this stays strictly between us, y'hear me?" Peppy instructed. "Maybe I can't talk you outta these obsessive suspicions, but I can keep you from dumping them on Wolf's shoulders. He's got enough on his mind, and plenty of catching up to do without you—"

"Save it." James stiffly stepped into the open elevator. "If he learns about where he really comes from, it won't be from me. You wanna keep him in the dark, go right ahead. You seem bent on pampering that kid at any cost. Even the truth."

Peppy bit back the urge to return the verbal jab, clamping it under his mouth.

"But I have one condition. For all of this."

The quieting of his tone caused Peppy's ears to perk up.

"Coddle that boy all you want, make him apart of your life…but don't ask the same from me." James glanced back without turning around, his scalding grey eyes hovering above his glasses. "Don't _ever_ ask the same from me. Involving myself with the O'Donnell bloodline has cost me enough already."

The elevator door closed, and silence returned to the observatory, made all the louder in the silence following the eruption of raised voices. The Rabbit was left alone with the flickering ceiling panels and soft hum of the surrounding ship, along with the hollow feeling in his stomach.

* * *

The spaceliner's engines, now primed and fueled, ignited with a flash of green heat that sent a streak of light through the murky atmosphere. As the ship's nose lurched slowly to prepare for its ascent, different voices blared on the comm system to report and confirm on core systems on every deck.

On his way back to the passenger's quarters, Peppy was nursing the headache throbbing in his temples from yelling. Never before had he engaged in a shouting match like that with James, much less heard such callous, damning things come out of his mouth. Even now, they lingered in his ears, which only made him seethe and walk more briskly, as if to outrun them.

Then, the slide door to his cabin opened, and he was greeted by a sight that made him forget his foul mood.

Next to one of the pitch-black viewports, Wolf had succumbed to a long and exciting day, curled up on the small couch and stirring softly as he slept, with one of his ears or his tail occasionally twitching. Trying to make as little noise as possible, Peppy knelt down next to him. The knowledge of who he really was made him look down at Wolf with new eyes, and a newfound sense of warmth. Then, a terrible realization hit him; If the revelation was true, then Wolf was barely nine years old—nowhere near as young as he initially thought upon first seeing him. He was so startlingly small from years of malnourishment that Peppy had mistaken his size for being a far younger age, when in truth, he was simply half the size he should've been.

Peppy cleared away the shock washing over him, thinking firmly: _He's going to have a home…a_ real _home._

_He's never going back to that life again, not if I have any say about it._

Peppy shrugged off his pilot's jacket and draped it over the boy. Wolf's eyes fluttered briefly, and then shot open. He sprang up at the sudden weight on his shoulders, fur frenzying.

"Easy, now. It's a coat, y'see?"

Blinking sleepily for a moment, Wolf looked flooded by the relief of seeing the Rabbit. "You came back!"

"'Course, I did…I said I would, didn't I?" He fastened the clasp of the jacket, which dwarfed Wolf's scrawny frame like a cloak. "There, now…isn't that better? You should be nice and snug in that. It's meant for a fat rabbit."

Wolf laughed. He hugged it around his shoulders, before his smile faded. "Um…Mister Hare? Can—?"

Peppy waved his hand kindly. "Oh no, no, bud, you don't have to call me that. We're friends, right? You can just call me Peppy…it's what everyone calls me."

"Peppy's your real name?"

"Well, the full thing is 'Pembroke'—I can thank my stuffy old dad for that." The rabbit crinkled his snout, seeming embarrassed to admit it. "Never really liked it, myself. My lady Viv always got a good chuckle out of it, though."

"Peppy…" Wolf resumed. "Can I ask you something?"

"Anything, son," Peppy said eagerly. "I bet you've got tons of questions."

Wolf hesitated. He started shifting his weight on foot oddly, and then looked up. "Have you and James found anything out about why I was on that planet yet? Where my mom and dad are…?"

Peppy's stomach sank at the desperation in the boy's round face, dreading to impart the truth to him. Then, he closed his mouth determinedly. "…I'm afraid not, son. We ran your name into the archives, did some searchin'…but we couldn't turn over anything."

Wolf's grip tightened around the jacket. "Did you find out… _why_ they left me there?"

"Now, hold up," he said sternly. "Don't be doin' your parents dirty like that. We don't know if you were 'left' down there. It could've been a separation, or an accident—"

Wolf silently let his eyes wander to the floor, ears drooping slightly as he looked unconvinced.

Peppy saw the dismay in his face, and quickly added: "Maybe the best thing for you right now isn't to look back, son. You were on that planet for a long time—nothin' will change that. But you're here, now, with us…and you have a ton a new things to look forward to."

Wolf looked up at him with a knifing glance, both suspicious and afraid. "What if _you_ decide to leave me behind? What if I do something wrong? Are you going to take me back to Venom and leave me there when that happens?"

Peppy looked at him strangely. "What's gotten into you? No one's going to take you back. Where in blazes did you get that idea?"

Wolf trembled. "Right before you and Pigma left, I heard James call you on…on that wrist thing. He said that something came up, about _me."_

Peppy froze. He didn't think the boy had heard that.

"What's going to happen to me?" Wolf shrank inside of the coat, his distrustful voice becoming thin, on the verge of crying. "I w-won't go back to that place…y-you can't make me…"

Peppy instantly placed his hands on his shoulders. "No, no…shhh. You've got it all wrong, Wolf. That call you overheard…it _was_ about you, but we weren't…" He paused, deciding what version of the truth to give him. "None of us were talking about abandoning you. We were just figuring out our next move. We're headin' to Corneria to report to HQ n' get our bearings. James is having a talk with the Captain now." He softened his voice for him. "No one's talking about abandoning you…I promise."

He waited for the boy to calm down, whose small hands pawed at the collar of the jacket. Wolf looked around uneasily, before venturing. "Then…why did James sound so angry when he called? Did I…do something, or say something to make him mad?"

The Rabbit's comforting smile faded for a moment. "Oh—no, son. You haven't done anything, it's just...this job just makes him a little grumpy sometimes. You shouldn't worry about it…" Glances at door, muttering inaudibly. "Believe me, if you see him angry, it's nothing that _you've_ done…"

"Must make Pigma that way too," said Wolf. "When I was alone with him, he started yelling at someone on the deck."

Seizing the opportunity to steer his attention elsewhere, Peppy chuckled. "Well…ain't nothin' new there, just Pigma bein' his usual self. Shortest fuse you'll ever meet. All that anger and mettle was pounded into him while he was still a teenager…" He sighed knowingly. "…but that's what going through the Academy will do to you."

"That place…" Wolf's eyes sparked with new curiosity. "I heard someone else mention it before. Is that something famous around here?"

Peppy looked a bit disarmed, before sighing. "I keep forgetting how little you know, bud." He glanced at the "C" insignia on the couch. "The Cornerian Flight Academy is the place where people from all over the galaxy go to become pilots. And yeah, it's beyond famous."

"Why?" Wolf asked. "Is it the only one?"

"Oh, no," Peppy waved his hand. "Not even close. There are bunches of other flight schools on other worlds…well, all the ones that have fleets o' their own, anyway. Pretty sure that the Avian homeworld Zoness has their own school…and those ornery feline folk on Katina _definitely_ have one."

Wolf raised a brow. "So, what makes the one on Corneria such a big deal?"

"'Cause it's the oldest out of the lot of them…and the best," Peppy said definitively. "The school teaches more than just flying—it teaches students to rely on history, logic, how to improvise, how to strategize. The Cornerians who founded it years ago didn't want just anyone to join their fleet. They wanted the best and the brightest. That's why admirals and generals have come out of that school, not just pilots. It's bone-crushingly hard, and even harder to get into. Only the best qualify...and only the best walk out."

Wolf sucked in a breath. "And Pigma went _there?"_

"'Course he did. Both of us did."

"How old were you?" Wolf asked, looking at him with newfound intrigue

"A few years older than you."

The boy's eyes become big. "And you got in? _How?"_

Peppy smiled knowingly. "...long story. Just did something to impress the folks at the Academy, I guess. Toughest thing I ever went through, that school...even more than some of my worst battles." He sighed nostalgically. "Seems like a lifetime ago. We've all changed a lot since those days..."

"What'd you guys do now?" Wolf asked eagerly. "What kind of wars do you fight?"

"Wars?" Peppy laughed. "No one's fought in a war, kid, least of all me. There hasn't been one in...gosh, I don't even know how long. Hundreds of years. Thousands."

Wolf was hit with a jolt of confusion. He looked around, eyebrows locking together. "No wars? But...then why is this fleet so huge? Why have all these pilots, or an army?" He pointed at the door. "Why does everyone talk to you and James like you've fought some kind of war? What about that scar of his?"

"He got that in a skirmish with some pirates years ago," Peppy said simply. "That's mostly what this fleet stands to do: deal with threats to Corneria's security, monitoring ship routes, that sort of thing. We've been at peace for years. Oh, sure, we've had a few rough patches here and there—" _Like the cold war we're in with Katina, but I'm not about to explain that to a child,_ he thought. _That'll take the entire voyage home._ "—but a full-scale war, pullin' the whole galaxy in? Nah. We ain't had that in eons. And we ain't likely to ever have one in our lifetime, thank goodness."

Wolf frowned, his eyelids lowering disappointedly. "Well, that's boring. What do pilots do if there's no wars to fight, no problems to solve?"

Peppy smiled at his naïveté. "Not all problems come from wars, kid. Some of them spring up closer to home. A lot closer. Ones that need people like us to step in to make sure things don't escalate." He grimaced wearily, having the look of an overworked parent managing unruly children.

"Is that why you and James look so tired all the time?"

"That's part of it," Peppy admitted. "But when we have shore leave, we do something even harder...and that's the part-time we do at the Academy, instructing cadets."

"You're a Teacher?" Wolf raised his eyebrows.

"Sort of. 'Senior administrators' is what the suits up in CDF High Command would call it... Thought it'd be nice for the school's best alumni to teach the new generation of pilots." The Rabbit sighed. "Nice idea on paper, but one that leads to a tremendous lack of sleep and no spare time between missions. James n' Pigma do whatever teaching they can when they're off-duty, but they're mostly out and about, wrestlin' with the galaxy's problems. Me...well...I try to take over for them at the school where I can, but..." He laughed. "I don't know why I'm tellin' you all this."

"You'd rather be flying with them," Wolf said keenly.

Peppy glanced back at him in surprise. Those curious eyes saw a lot of subtleties. "You mean would I rather be dashin' across the galaxy, catching rogues n' pirates with the other two instead of monitoring a classroom?" His worn-out smile widened. "Nah. I only do that when I have to. Gallivanting with the Team's fine and all, but helpin' a young mind grow, watching a child find themselves... _that's_ a worthwhile challenge." As his maroon eyes began to sparkle fondly, he turned his attention back to the boy. "That's what I'm here to talk to you about, Wolf."

Wolf's small ears perked up. "What do you mean?"

Still on one knee, Peppy lifted him up and set him on the edge of the couch, facing him at equal height. "Well, y'see…bein' part of Star Fox, I've done all kinds of things, gone on all kinds of adventures…some of them outside of the cockpit. Things like meeting my best friend and marrying her, raising a bonny baby girl…and both ended up being the greatest adventures I ever went on." His eyes saddened. "Thing is, there was one other one that my wife Viv and I always talked about doin', but she passed away before we could ever do it. But now that you're here, I've got a chance to try my hand at it…if you'll let me."

"What is it?"

"Raising a boy of my own."

The words completely disarmed Wolf, stunning him into silence. He felt an overwhelming sense of warmth and relief washing over him…one that was quickly undermined by an uncomfortable squirming in his stomach. He hadn't done anything to warrant such a kind offer—not from a complete stranger, and not in such a short amount of time.

"M-Me?" His eyes searched the Rabbit's face, wondering if it was a ruse. "You want me to stay with you?"

Peppy nodded warmly. "The others and I have talked…" _Hmph, debated, more like,_ he mentally grumbled. "…and we've decided that the best thing for you is to take some time to get used to the world…to other people. And I'm tellin' ya, bud, my home moon Lapetus is _perfect_ for that. Lots of countryside, plenty o' places to run n' play, the works. You'll have me to look after you, and my little Lucy too…I'm sure she won't have any trouble makin' friends with you."

In the middle of selling it as best he could, he noticed the blank expression on Wolf's face, unable to detect any concern or excitement.

Peppy frowned hesitantly. "...I hope that all sounds okay."

In reality, the more he talked about it, the better it sounded. Wolf's heart skipped; he couldn't believe how quickly his life was changing, how right everything was turning out for him. Then his expression fell nervously. "What'll happen to me after that?"

Peppy shrugged. "Anything. You can have whatever future you want."

Wolf shrank beneath his blanket of a jacket, looking out into the murky blackness outside. The world he had found so exciting just a few hours ago suddenly seemed daunting, and unpredictable…and he felt small and alien within it.

"But what if I don't know what that is yet?"

Peppy laughed. "It'll come to you, bud. You've got your whole life ahead of you to think about that." He placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "And I'll be there every step of the way until then. But first things first, you need to relax and have a childhood first."

A nervous smile crept onto Wolf's face. Whatever lingering uncertainties he might've had, he could count on the Rabbit's voice making him feel safe.

"What's the rest of your home like?" He asked quietly. "Is the rock softer there? Less volcanoes?"

"There aren't any volcanoes. It's nothing like Venom—it's lush and green, with forests and mountains…" Peppy assured him excitedly. "You're going to love it, bud, I'm sure of it. There's lots of places to fish, pick berries…and the sky's got a nice view of Fichina. Sure it gets kinda gray and dull during the rainy season, but it's not as bad as some folks exaggerate. The sun shines plenty, most days."

That was when Wolf stared Peppy in confusion. What he had just said came out of nowhere and hit his ears like a foreign language.

"You can…see the sun there?"

Peppy paused, realizing that the boy was looking at him like he'd suggested something as ludicrous as breathing out in space. He gave a confused glance out the window, and when it dawned upon him, his enthusiastic smile faded.

"…Oh. Well…yes, you can. I…I forgot, you..." He looked outside at the permanently cloudy and lightless Venomian atmosphere shrouding the skies below, feeling a pang of sadness in his stomach. "You have no idea what that looks like, do you?"

Wolf cocked his head up at him, ear twitching curiously.

"Well, where we're goin' you'll see plenty of daylight. That and..." He stopped mid-sentence, his drooping ears springing up and his face suddenly alight. "Wait a minute…that also means you haven't seen the _nighttime_ sky either. You haven't, have you?"

Wolf's face was utterly blank. Before he could say or do anything, the Rabbit bolted to his feet, teeming with excitement.

"Oh. _Oho_ , boy…you're in for a treat. What great timing, too—" He talked into his wrist-comm quickly. "Pigma, we close to leaving orbit yet?"

The Hog's voice crackled through. "Hmm? Yeah, just about. Pilot says we're making our ascent; we should be outta this tangled airspace any second now."

"Great." Peppy beckoned the boy over. "Come here, Wolf…there's something you gotta see."

Wolf, puzzled by the grown up's strange antics, joined him at the viewport. He could hear the ship's turbines humming as it continued rising higher in the dense, foggy atmosphere, leaving the planet and its undisturbed aura of stillness behind.

Peppy's whiskers twitched. "Come on, Pigma, tell them to take us up!"

"One second! Be patient, will ya? Navicomputer's still buffering. What's gotten you all excited, anyway? Think you'll see something special when we hit space?"

A smile crept on Peppy's lips, as he thought to himself: _**I**_ _won't._

Wolf was pressing against the glass, squinting at the dark skies for whatever the Rabbit was itching to show him, when a thunderous rattle seized the ship around them. Any previous shreds of ambience was engulfed in the deafening roar of the engines, as the craft rocketed upwards at a stomach-dropping speed, attempting to snatch escape velocity. The thinning atmosphere fought the ship's ascent in what could only be described as controlled violence, as the room began to shake and shudder violently, the hull bucking against the atmospheric pressure. The engines climbed to a high-pitched and puncturing whine, the black clouds outside the viewport streaking into thin curtains as they raced higher and faster into the thinning atmosphere. Wolf's heart leapt to his throat, and he dove under the window frame, cowering and scrunching his eyes tight.

Then the roaring and shuddering stopped. The sense of speed vanished, and instead of lurching forward, the ship's ascent smoothened out. The engines whirred back to their humming state, and all was quiet again.

Heart still racing, Wolf felt a gloved hand shake his shoulder. "It's alright. Look…"

Cautiously, Wolf raised his head to peer out the glass.

Slowly, his blank expression melted away, and his large eyes become even bigger.

Behind the glass stretched the swirling galactic canvas of Lylatian space, blanketed in silky dark matter and a curtain of something Wolf had never seen before: Stars _,_ millions of them, stretching to all corners of his line of sight and past the galactic cluster itself. They wreathed a band of light seated in a shadowy well of blue and purple hues, some of the stars retaining a static kindle while others blinked to life sporadically.

Everything left Wolf's mind—it went blank, while the rest of him went numb. Eyes widening, he only mustered enough nerve to gingerly step towards the viewport, slipping a hand out of the oversized jacket and planting it on the glass pane. The sight of the world sprawled before him through the small window snatched the breath out of his throat. All he could do was stare open-mouthed at it, so awestruck and filled with wonder that he could barely move. He didn't know what this feeling was, this bizarre sensation of feeling impossibly small but also endlessly warm in the face of something so vast. He should've felt tiny and alone, like he often did so many times before when looking up at Venom's dark skies, but he didn't; if anything, there was a strange, enveloping comfort from how he couldn't see an end to any of it…a sea of stars that stretched on forever, gleaming serenely before him.

Wolf managed to find his voice. "This is…?"

Peppy beamed at the view. "That's the Lylat System. Ain't it something? And that's not even all of it. It goes on and on, y'know…planetary systems, cosmic clusters, nebulas and uncharted quadrants …"

He looked back at the boy, and his smile lapsed a bit. Wolf's reaction wasn't like the uncontrollable excitement he'd shown back on the Ship's Deck. He was completely rigid outside of his fingers trembling against the glass. The sight was having a different effect than Peppy had expected, making him somewhat anxious.

But unbeknownst to him, Wolf was feeling a weightless sensation pass through him. For the first time, in this fleeting, incomprehensible moment, he found himself longing for something that wasn't material, like food or someplace warm to sleep. As he stared wistfully at the visage shining between the open cracks of his fingers, he found himself longing for something far more precious…something that he didn't know how badly he wanted until now.

Peppy nudged him worryingly with his voice. "Wolf…? You alright?"

Wolf's hands and widened eyes remained locked to the viewport glass.

"I know this must be a lot to take in. You've never seen it before, it must be kind of overwhelming—"

Wolf suddenly asked: "If you're a pilot…you get to go out there? You get to fly in…all of this?"

The feeble and tepid hopefulness in his voice softened Peppy's heart. He put an encouraging hand on the boy's shoulder and stared outward with him. "That's right."

The ocean of stars before him stretching before him, almost within the reach of his fingertips, was more than the sight of space. It was a way out…like the mouth of a cave, leading to an outside world sprawling with light. It was everything he had been denied down in the confines of Venom, a place where there was no end in sight, with endless possibilities of where he could go…and what he could be.

And deep within the vast, boundless starscape, he could see it, lying in wait: the ultimate prize, something that could be mere days or long years out of reach...a destiny that he'd never stop longing for, but one he'd also stop at nothing to have one day.

Freedom.


	3. Formative Years

Chapter 3: Formative Years

_East Sub-Block Correctional Facility_ _, Corneria City Outskirts, 4481 AIC_

_(7 Years Later)_

Morning was the only time when the hostile confines of the juvenile hall even remotely resembled the outside world. 

It was so early that even the faintest orange hue of daybreak had still yet to creep in through the grime-coated pane of the windows. The aching morning hours seemed to hold the sky hostage in an inky haze, one reflected in the waves that were made frigid from the long night air.

During these fleeting hours of calm, the facility saw something resembling tranquility, even the large room that made up the barracks. Its tile floors were stained with mold, the air was rank with the stench of rusty pipes and the almost sour fumes of body odor. But this was the one time in the day when the walls weren’t ringing with the echo of quarrelsome voices and brawling, and the only thing disturbing the stillness in the air was the stirring of sleeping inmates.

Suddenly, the shrill sound of an alarm bell shattered the silence, signaling the ceiling lights to beam on blaringly and singe through everyone’s sheets. Muffled groans arose from the numerous beds across the room. A stocky guard seemingly unfazed by the ungodly hour stormed in and rapped the unlit tip of his stun baton against the metal rack of the nearest bed, the ringing noise rattling every inmate’s head.

“Alright, pansies, you heard the bell. Get your carcasses to the Assembly Room, single-file and on the double. Get moving!”

Half-asleep grumbles of protest arose from every bunk, as each inmate dragged themselves out of bed and followed the blurry silhouettes barking orders at them. Even if they had been awake enough to summon the energy to complain, it wasn’t worth having one’s open ire punished by the sting of the guard’s baton. They marched down the hallway on drowsy autopilot, dragging their shambling feet across the grimy floor.

At the end of the corridor, a sliding door opened to a large assembly room, in which the inmates poured in dozily.

Rather than a horde of surly, brow-beaten adults, the inmates that trudged in sleepily were a bunch of disgruntled adolescent boys. There wasn’t a single grown man among them, with even the burliest among them still hovering on the threshold of seventeen. And yet they still lumbered towards their seats with a very disgruntled adult disposition, in enough of a sour mood to launch the first boy who so much as nudged against them into a grapple. It didn’t matter how early in the morning it was—they always had enough energy to spare for a fight. In fact, that was why most of them were here. Tattoos and fur dye ran rampant on whatever part of them was visible under their jail clothes, even among the younger boys. Some of them had pierced lips and beaks, and nearly all of them had the fur or feathers on their heads fashioned into some kind of brutish style. Eyelids heavy and patience long expired, they all slumped into the folding chairs facing the front.

A Sparrow, with crudely-dyed feathers and piercings running up his beak, rubbed his temples with a weary scowl. “Fucking hell...my head feels like it’s going to crack open.”

The boy next to him suppressed a yawn. “Hey, Kaz...any idea what they woke us up for?”

“Why the hell are you asking me like _I_ know?” The Sparrow growled. “I swear, if it’s another assembly punishment for some asshat in the other cell block, I’m going back to bed. The guards can go ahead and bash my head in all they want—it can’t be worse than the headache I’ve got now.”

Behind them, a boy whispered in a low voice. “D’you think it’s somebody got caught breaking into the pantry again? Kyle’s been looking pretty fat lately...I bet _he_ did it.”

“Hmph. Even Kyle couldn’t get fat off of the food around here.” The Sparrow overcame his headache for a second to straightens eagerly. “Hey, you don’t think maybe the Warden finally died in his sleep, do you?” He was distracted by the sudden hiss of the slide door at the front of the room, only to sigh disgruntledly. “Shit...never mind.”

A similar batch of grimaces spawned around him as the Warden, a Jackrabbit with a grease-stained whiskers and beady eyes from too much drink, walked to the front of the grumbling mass of boys. He blew into a sonic whistle, which crackled faultily and prompted him into rattling the room awake with his voice instead.

“Attention, _all of you!_ ” He shouted. _“_ This is an ungodly hour for me as well, so sit tight and keep your mouth shut so we can get this over with. I’ve roused you all up for—QUIET!” He sprayed his thrashing voice and a volley of spit at a pair of whispering boys in the front, before continuing. “I’ve roused you all up for news that some of you have no doubt been looking forward to, but nowhere near as much as I have.” Rare satisfaction drew his lips into a smirk, popping a few mottled teeth into view. “I have just been wired the list of inmates who qualify for early release.”

The word caused several of the inmates to become far more attentive, excited whispers spreading amongst them.

“Wait, did he say early ‘release’?”

“Holy crap, he did! The rumors were true…they bumped up the release evaluations early!”

“I can’t wait. This time I gotta be on the approval list!”

“Gimme a break. Nobody’s stupid enough to bail _you_ out—”

A guard rapped his baton against the wall to quiet them down, and the superintendent’s scotch-riddled voice resumed its impatient crooning.

“I could’ve waited till daybreak to read it off, but I don’t feel like toleratin’ you walking scabs a second longer than I have to. If I get an early chance to get rid of one or all of you, you can bet that’s an opportunity I’ll seize. So you all know how this shindig goes: those of you who made the list thanks to bail or good behavior or whatever the hell got you out of my hair, return to the locker rooms and pack your things. Those of you who ain’t, report to the laundry room to get started on your chores. I’d also like to add that no amount of pissin’ or whining will make the decision of the list any less final.” He squinted at the list. “Right, then. The names are…”

Several creaking sounds all erupted simultaneously as all the boys sat forward, ears pricked and eyes wide.

“Samuels. Horowitz. O’Leary—no, not you, the _other_ O’Leary, sit back down. Paxton. Chernov. Gibbons. Frost.”

He kept grunting his way down the list, as various boys of different builds and species sat up at the sound of their name.

“Braddock. Howell…. _Kazchek.”_

The Sparrow sat up alertly. “What?”

“Kaz, that’s us three!” yelped The Dog next to him excitedly. “We made it! _We made the list!”_

“YES!” The Sparrow grinned.

The Warden fixed his beady eyes on them. “Hey! You little pricks take that shit to the locker room, before I send you onto that Shuttle with your face caved in!”

He waited for the boys to scamble to their feet and race out the hall doors, before continuing.

“…Hawthorn. Alvarez. Lang…and Ainsley.” He frowned, giving the list another look-over before shoving it in a nearby guard’s hand. “That’s all. The rest of you, get a move on! Now!”

With the air of excitement in the room deflated, a profanity-ridden uproar quickly erupted from the remaining seated boys, before they were quickly silenced by the thwacking of batons against the wall. Metal chairs lurched collectively with the boys rising out of them, dialing their voices down to bitter grumbling as they shuffled out the door.

Far in the back row, surrounded by the cluster of empty seats, one boy remained where he sat while the rest of them cleared out.

Wolf O’Donnell was glued to his chair, feeling a bulging knot in his stomach that sent a sick, weightless feeling down to his legs. The day he had been anticipating with both excitement and dread had finally arrived, only to leave him with his eyes in his lap, frustrated and helpless.

His name hadn’t been on the list. _Again._

o – o – o – o – o – o – o – o – o – o – o – o – o

If the sour stench of body odor and stifling humidity of the Belongings Room wasn’t enough incentive for inmates to speed in and out of it hastily, the overhead radio was plenty.

Whenever it wasn’t blaring the warden’s orders, the scratchy outdated intercom cycled the usual grating radio offerings of that morning, making the start of the day even worse by embedding chipper jingles into the boys’ weary skulls. The room was already awash in enough sounds to rattle them awake: the squeaking of rubber boots against the dingy floor, the loud gossip and grumbling, all of which were only occasionally audible over the loud clanging of oversized grated metal drawers and lockers. None of them, however, were quite as obnoxious as the whooping voices barreling in from the doorway.  
  
“You smell that, boys? Today’s the last day we’re gonna have to endure the stench of _this_ dump ever again!”

The newly-freed Sparrow and his friends came strolled in, intoxicated on the fumes of high spirits and sharing excited plans with each other:

“Man, I can’t _wait_ to walk the streets of the old neighborhood again,” One of them said, as they grabbed their belongings.. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m hitting up the first diner joint I see. Lemme tell you, that food’s gonna be like heaven after all this jail slop…”

“First things first, I’m heading to is the record store,” Another said giddily. “Do you even _know_ how many Wingburner albums I’ve missed in the time I’ve been in here?”

“Pfft. Screw all of _that,”_ The Sparrow’s voice was the loudest, cutting through the air and bouncing off the walls like a raid siren. “The second I’m out, I’m scoring some Zonetian ice—I haven’t had a hit in years. And then I’m gonna see if Old Man Hansen’s liquor store is still standing…” He curled his beak into a smile, flexing his fingers. “…maybe even ‘misplace’ a bottle, like old times.”

“You do that, and you’ll be back here in no time,” remarked the boy next to him.

The Sparrow grinned, sporadic golden teeth peppering his smile. “Nah, see, _this_ time I won’t get turned in, even if I _am_ caught. Time in here’s made me a changed man…” He cracked his knuckles. “…and has really given me the chance to refine my communication skills.”

He elicited a few chuckles out of the others, before he gathered his clothes into a bag like the rest of them. Just as he was about to head out, something nearby snatched his attention. One of the other boys looked back impatiently. “What’s the hold up, Kaz? Let’s get goin’!”

A new, eager smile played on the Sparrow’s beak, before he flung his bag to one of them. “Wait. There’s something I wanna do real quick...”

On the other side of the crowded room, away from the clatter of steel grates and the squeaks of shoes on the floor, Wolf gathered his clothes to start the day. His movement was slogged, noncommittal. He robotically sorted through his belongings, trying to make the hollow feeling in his stomach disappear into the motions of his daily routine...but it was useless. Everything from his crinkled laundry to the grey walls just compounded the one miserable thought on his mind.

He was going to spend another year here. Another year in these halls, watching other boys go in and out, while he remained…while life continued to pass him by.

For months, he’d done everything in his power to end up on that list: he’d taken extra chores, scrubbed the floors till his sleepless eyes burned and his wrists ached. He had taken every day of jeering and harassment from the other boys, in silence and without protest just like Peppy had told him to, in a desperate attempt not to recreate an incident like the one that had landed him here. And none of it had been good enough. _He_ hadn’t been good enough.

Wolf stopped fumbling with his clothes, clinging to the metal grate. It was only morning, and he would have to spend the rest of the day going about his usual chores. Acting like nothing was wrong.

Just then, his ear twitched as the song playing on the overhead radio stopped abruptly for an advertisement. _“Hey there, you! Have your heart set on reaching the stars? Think you’ve got what it takes to serve in a squadron? Apply today and see if YOU’RE eligible to enter the Cornerian Flight Academy: the best military program in the galaxy, supervised by the legendary Star Fox Team! A short four years at the Planetary Campus, and another four at the Orbital Campus, and you’ll be ready to join our boys in the Fleet keeping our skies safe! A man in uniform stands out among the rest, right, ladies? If you want to know more, stay tuned after our next song…”_

It was just more of the usual enlisting propaganda that littered the radio stations. Nothing to get worked up over. But today, the ads seemed to mock Wolf, gleefully reminding him of the future he was missing. “All these other boys get to leave” it seemed to say, in that patriotic baritone. “But not you.” As a new song started blaring, Wolf angrily stuffed his clothes into his duffel bag. His fingers brushed against something paper at the bottom of his bag, sticking out underneath all the cloth.

He fished it out, revealing it to be something he’d forgotten he’d even packed: a crumpled photo of him, Peppy smiling, and a bemused Lucy outside of their home, surrounded by the snow of their first winter together.

In an instant, Wolf was yanked out of his dingey surroundings, melancholy nostalgia rushing back for that old house on Fichina—those years of homeschooling with the Hares he used to think so boring; Lucy teaching him to read, Peppy taking the both of them out for ice cream, those days where it would rain for hours but Peppy would always liven things up with some new game he’d make up on the spot, some ghost story he’d make up in a minute, or one of his war stories that Wolf didn’t know he loved so much until the time he spent without them...in here.

Wolf sighed. So many things he took for granted.

At the rate things were going with his current sentence, he wouldn’t see that house for another two years. Two more years without Lucy’s cooking, or Peppy’s stories. He looked sadly at the Hare’s beaming smile, feeling his gut wrench at the eventuality of having to face him during his next visitation…having to tell him the bad news, and watch him try and hide his disappointment.

His eyes moved to his own face in the photo, which seemed so much younger and rounder to the point of being unrecognizable. A sickening feeling hit the bottom of his stomach, a new thought striking him: How old was he going to be once he finally left this place? 18? 20?

He wondered how much of his life he was going to watch fester away in this new cave of his…

CLANG!

His thoughts were interrupted by a hand springing out and slamming his belongings drawer shut. Wolf turned alertly, only to lapse miserably at the all-too-familiar flash of gold teeth.

“How are we today, Greyling?” The Sparrow smiled, leaning on the wall of drawers casually. “Almost missed you on my way out. You aren’t trying to avoid me, are you?

Wolf felt himself cringe, decrying his luck. He had desperately hoped that he could escape the attention of the miscreants just for today— _especially_ the Sparrow. But Wolf was awkwardly tall, lean, and the only one without tattoos or some manner of fur-dye. He was far too easy to single out in the roomful of boys, something that was made more overt as more of the Sparrow’s friends gathered around.

“Got any smokes?”

“...I’m trying to quit,” Wolf mumbled vacantly.

The punk frowned. “That’s not what I asked. D’ya got any smokes on you, or don’t ya?”

Wolf didn’t say anything. He clearly wasn’t going to be left alone, and his first instinct was to make a brisk exit, but that was impossible with all of the Sparrow’s friends looking on.

“Hello?” The Sparrow gave him an impatient jab to the forehead. “I said something you, pal. You gonna answer me, or what?”

Instead of hitting back or pushing him out of his space, Wolf kept his head slumped submissively. “ ...I don’t have any. Warden took ‘em all.”

The Sparrow clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “I know you’re lying, because I can smell the whiff of cigs on that shirt of yours. Which means you’re not only lying, but you’re holding out on me. And that’s a big no-no.” 

Wolf stood there silently, knowing perfectly well that punk didn’t actually care about finding any cigarettes on him. It was just today’s excuse to talk to him, and stage yet another failed attempt to provoke him. After a moment or two passed, and Wolf tried to move past him, only for the Sparrow to obstruct his path.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Wolf paused. The boy was being more persistent than usual. “Laundry room.”

“But I didn’t say you could leave, did I?”

A smirk played on his beak, one that dared Wolf to move. It was only a few feet between Wolf and the door, just past the wall of snickering boys. He could endure a few more minutes until they left—

“You know...you’re always the quiet kid in whatever room I’m in,” observed the Sparrow, circling him like one of the many ravenous creatures that stalked the Venomian wastes, and with a look just as hungry. “No matter what I say, or what I do...or how I push...I can’t get anything outta you. Hell, I think you’ve maybe said eight words in the entire time I’ve been here. It’s weird; I can get a fight out of just about anyone in this cell block…except for you.”

Without warning, he suddenly broke his stride to viciously shove Wolf, failing to illicit any noise from him but still managing to make him stumble back clumsily and almost step on his own tail, which sent a ripple of laughter from the other boys. Anger boiled inside of Wolf’s stomach, but he still kept his gaze locked onto the ground. The Sparrow tilted his head, trying to meet his lowered eyes.

“Nothing today either?” He curled his lip. “And here I was thinking I’d be leaving here with a good time.”

Nearby, a Newt called out. “C’mon, Kaz, why d’you mess with him when you know it’s a waste of time? The guy barely talks...the vents make more noise than he does. You ain’t gonna get anything out of him.”

The Sparrow’s dyed feathers ruffled in annoyance, eyes fixed on Wolf. “See these other guys, Greyling? They think you won’t budge. But you and I know better, don’t we?”

He rapped Wolf between his ears next, causing him to flinch. More laughter sprang from the other boys. Feeling his face nettle with humiliation, Wolf stood there fumingly, finding it harder than usual to contain his impulses. Under normal circumstances, he would have throttled the smug little Sparrow by now. But he couldn’t—not if he wanted to avoid being transferred to another cell block and extending his time in here. Peppy’s instructions flashed in his mind:

_“Keep to yourself. Don’t start anything. Don’t even talk to anyone—be a completely different person if you have to._

_Just keep the Venomian side of yourself a secret at all costs, y’hear me?_ **Promise** _me you won’t let it spill out..”_

That was the problem, Wolf realized as his eyes traveled around the circle of jeering boys: how was a _regular_ person supposed to put up with people like this?

The Sparrow’s loud voice yanked him back to reality. “Have you heard the news? I’m leaving today, Greyling. Smooth sailing from here to Corneria City.” He played at false curiosity. “You know it’s funny, I actually didn’t hear _your_ name on the list.”

Wolf said nothing, keeping his gaze aloft and unfocused. The Sparrow leaned forward, bringing his insufferable smirk closer.

“What’s that feel like? Knowing that I’ll get to see the outside of these walls, while you rot inside them?”

Without changing a line of his expression Wolf looked up and asked platonically. “You finished? Can I go now?”

The eagerness was evaporating quickly from Sparrow’s face, souring completely.

“Wait a second—is that _Peppy Hare?”_

Wolf dropped his placid, stony expression in instant alarm as one of the boys pointed to the worn photograph wedging out of his bag, fishing it out before he could react fast enough.

“It is! It’s Peppy Hare!” The boy exclaimed, showing it to the awestruck boys.

“What?! Let me see that,” the Sparrow snapped, snatching it from him. He and the others huddled around it, before astonishment spread across their expressions.

Wolf felt his heart stop. He tried to reach over and grab it, before—

“I’ll be damned…it _is_ him,” the Sparrow murmured. His eyes traveled to the child in the photo. “And look—our boy’s there with him!”

“No fucking way,” said the Newt behind him. “You’re telling me that this mute of a wet blanket got a photo op with one of the _Star Fox pilots?_ Give me a break!”

“It’s more than a photo op…lookit back there. That’s his _house._ Greyling here must know them personally.” The Sparrow’s eyes darted up dubiously. “How’d you manage that, Greyling? Is your mom cozy with one o’ them, or something?”

Fingers curling around the handle of his bag, Wolf stepped toward him. “Give it back.”

“‘Give it back.’” The Sparrow mimicked a high-pitch. “You should be careful what you leave around in plain sight. Someone could get careless, and accidentally—” His fingers danced atop the photograph’s edge, creasing it as he started to tear it down the middle. Wolf’s blood spiked, feeling the urge to say or do something, before realizing that a space had opened between the crowd of boys. He took advantage and walked through them towards the door.

_Just get one of the wardens like Peppy says..._

Then, out of the corner of his eye, the Sparrow took notice of something that made him stop. “Hullo, who do we have here?” He moved his thumb over. “There’s a fetching little lady next to our buddy in this picture.”

Not even an inch from the sliding door, a bloodcurdling sensation froze Wolf on the spot, numbing his legs.

“And who might _this_ be _?”_ The Sparrow’s beak curled into a hungry grin, exposing every gold tooth. “My, _my,_ Greyling, you never told me you knew a dish like this.” He glanced back, dangling the photo from his fingers. “What do you think of _her,_ boys?”

“Hot _damn_ , I like the curves on her. Those eyes, too.”

“Take a look at her fur _._ Mmm, wouldn’t mind running a hand through that…probably softer than a cloud.”

“Yeah, she’s a regular cream puff. Not bad, not bad at all.”

He passed the photo around, igniting a surge of seedy interest from the circle of boys. Grubby hands squabbled over the young girl’s image. Degrading whistles and whooping rang throughout the room.

“Wait a minute…does that mean she’s the old Rabbit’s daughter?” The Newt grabbed it and examined it. “I didn’t even know he was married—how’d _that_ happen? Being the third wheel on the Star Fox Team couldn’t have done him any favors.”

“Hey, you know how these Fichinese rabbit folk are…they always find ways to multiply,” The Sparrow crowed. “Besides, you’re all missing the most important thing here: lookit how young our Greyling friend is in this photo…it must’ve been taken a long time ago.” His tongue slid out from under his beak, licking his upper lip. “Which means Girlie here’s probably all grown up, too…even older than us. Just think of how much _juicier_ she is now…”

Yellow-toothed grins and chuckles sprang on the pool of faces. Every whistle and laugh scuttled under Wolf’s skin, stoking the anger that was boiling in his stomach. He wasn’t going to bite his impulses back long enough to make it out the door. It was so close, just out of reach, but the Sparrow and his friends just kept talking—

The Sparrow put on a look of mock hurt. “I’m crushed, Greyling; all this time, you knew a prime catch like this, and you never mentioned her once? That won’t do. I reckon we should introduce ourselves to her, right boys? I’m sure we’d be perfectly suited to show her a real night on the town.”

A boy behind him grinned. “Hell yes. High-class gal like that looks like she’s achin’ for a good time. Wouldn’t complain if we gave it to her, I reckon.”

“Complain?” Another laughed. “Give me five minutes with her, and she’d never want to go home!”

The Sparrow kept his gaze locked squarely on the shaking shoulders of Wolf’s back. He was relishing the unusual amount of reaction he was getting out of him today, eager to see if he could finally get him to snap. He was closer than he realized: It was taking all of Wolf’s restraint for him not to turn around, the ringing laughter sending a nettling sensation under his skin like a rash, clenching his fists until he could feel his claws digging into his palms.

“Hey, now…aren’t you guys forgetting something?” A grubby boy asked. “Her dad’s _Peppy Hare._ D’you think he’s going to just stand around while you have a go at his daughter?”

“Oh, yeah? And tell me why I should be afraid of him, exactly?” demanded the Sparrow. “Maybe if we were talking about McCloud, or even Dengar, I’d understand—but Hare? He’s a total loser. A lo-ser. That spineless old shit can’t do anything to anyone—least of all me.”

“You’re talking about a legendary pilot,” The Newt behind him scoffed. “Is there something about him I don’t know, that you don’t?”

Rolling his eyes, the Sparrow turned to him. “Wake up, genius. Why d’you think the newspapers barely mention him each time the Star Fox Team make headlines? Why do you think he mostly teaches while the other two do all the flying and shooting?” 

The Newt shrugged. “Maybe he’s just a better teacher than the other two.”

“Yeah, that’s the official story...and it’s a crock of shit. I’ll tell you why he’s mostly teaching kids these days—” He brandished the photo, voice thick with resentment. “It’s ‘cause he’s the third wheel of the Team. The soft one, the _weak_ one. An embarrassment. He hasn’t been a ‘legendary pilot’ in years...now, he just gets fat and fucks around with kids all day.” 

Standing at the door with his back still to the others, Wolf felt a humiliating jolt worming its way into his chest. He fought to keep still, trying to recall the steps Peppy had made him recite. Something about breathing deeply, counting to ten—

“I mean, hell, they probably try to brush him under the rug out of embarrassment,” The Sparrow laughed scornfully. “Better to keep him chained to Academy duty where his doddering stupidity doesn’t get anyone killed.”

 _One…two…three…_ , and Wolf felt white-hot anger igniting his hands, the last vestiges of restraint withering the longer Sparrow kept talking.

“Imagine what it’s like to fly with that hillbilly moron…practically being his caretaker, making sure he doesn’t shit himself in the cockpit, or something.”

One of the other boys guffawed. “No wonder James looks so tired all the time.” 

“Sounds like dealing with the average Long-Ears to me. You know what they say about these Fichinese country folk—” The Sparrow projected his jeers around the other boys. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s the slow-headed accident of some barnyard inbreeding like the rest of his kind.”

Another boy made a face before laughing. “That’s friggin disgusting, Kaz.”

“You know I’m right. In fact, knowing what I know about quickly Rabbits like him reproduce, I wouldn’t have to worry about upsetting him by having a go at his daughter...”

His fingers snaked over the two figures in the photo, lowering his voice to a mock scandalous tone. “…he’s probably already beaten me to it.”

He smiled in Wolf’s direction. “Ain’t that the truth, Greyling?”

If there was more laughter or crowing from the other boys, Wolf didn’t hear it. A feverish buzzing was burrowing itself deep into his ears, climbing to a maddening hum.

All at once, everything the Sparrow was insinuating seeped into Wolf. Every word…every vile, disgusting implication hanging off of them, stopped the flow of air to his throat. Livid fumes entered his lungs like a toxin. The disappearing, rational part of his brain clambered desperately at Peppy’s advice, but it became far too distant to hear…as thoughts of the Hare were tainted by images planted by the Sparrow’s words.

Raw, unfiltered rage took ahold of Wolf, to where it reduced his vision to a disorienting blur. It spiked the nerves in his facial muscles, making them twitch and spasm uncontrollably. His ears were clogged by the sound of his own seething, which drew his upper lip higher above the curves of his clenched teeth.

There was no point in hiding his true nature anymore…it wasn’t like he had any hopes of being released from this place.

With his back still to the others, he let the duffel bag drop from his shaking hand. Hollers of mock fear came from the other boys. The Sparrow flashed an eager smile. “Whoops, looks like that was the button. What’s the matter, did I hurt the baby’s feelings?”

The frame of Wolf’s shoulders just rose and fell, while the thin rasping sound of uneven breathing emerged from where his back was turned.

The smile on the Sparrow’s face had barely melted when Wolf whirled around to lunge at him.

In a split second, the outstretched, clawed fingers of Wolf’s hand came within a few inches of the boy’s widening eyes when pair of arms latched around Wolf’s neck and chest, pulling him back. A grin on the Sparrow’s face returned as he watched him struggle under the hold of the Newt who had grabbed him. Growling furiously, Wolf thrashed at the taller boy restraining him, only to be flung against the wall, paralyzed long enough for the Newt to snatch a handful of the white fur railing his scalp and slam his face against the row of metal drawers. Wolf’s vision became a blinding white, a searing puffy sensation running down his forehead, along with the trickle of blood. And then the Newt slammed him against the drawers again and _again_ , to the laughter of the other boys. Ears ringing and forehead bleeding, Wolf clambered about blindly until his fingers found a higher-placed open drawer, quickly shutting it on the Newt’s scaly hand. The Newt yowled, tail curling in pain, while Wolf slipped free…barely hobbling to his feet when he raised his arm to instinctively repel something whistling towards him. A bulky Bobcat seized his wrist, locking arms with him. Wolf let out a strained grunt as he saw more boys over the feline’s shoulder charging at him while he was exposed. Snarling exasperatedly, Wolf improvised: he jerked his neck back and savagely head-butted the Bobcat, seethingly ignoring his own gushing forehead until the boy collapsed. Tossing him aside and squinting through the red crowning his eyebrows, Wolf leapt and seized the Sparrow in a murderous tackle—their combined weight and speed unbalancing the other boys in the tight space and bringing them hurtling down as well.

**CRASH!**

The long wooden bench in the middle of the changing room collapsed under the swarm of yelling boys, splinters flying everywhere. Bystanders that hadn’t left already made a mad dash for the door, if only to avoid being yanked into the fray spilling out on the tiled floor.

Whatever boys that remained conscious swarmed Wolf like ants, and he made short work of them. They would get in the occasional hit—a nip to the ear here, a pummel to the ribs there—but it only served to infuriate Wolf more, fueling him to retaliate more savagely. His fists snaked and cracked at them like rawhide, sending them away in screams and arcs of blood. Between all the thrashing, Wolf’s eyes darted about the tangled, groaning mess around him, struggling to find the Sparrow. The moment’s distraction cost him: A brown, blurry fist of a Hyena that had caved into his face. As he balled another fist, Wolf reacted from muscle memory—diving flat on his back the way he would when misty ground to dodge the snapping jaws of a predator back on Venom—and swinging a kick at the soft back part of the Hyena’s knee. The boy’s canine whelp was then silenced by Wolf ramming his fist into his snout: a sickening crack and a muffled scream followed, and the Hyena hobbled back, hands cupped around his dripping nose.

Wolf panted hoarsely, the frenzy of movement in the small room dissipating long enough for him to wipe the bloody tangle of fur out of his eyes. It was in that second of clarity that he saw the blur of speckled feathers hook around his neck from behind. Wolf gargled and choked, unable to turn his head at the sound of a snide voice above his ear.

“I told you I’d get some fun out of you.”

The Sparrow kept a tight grip on him, taking advantage of the tight wallspace to keep Wolf wriggling and gagging in place. He clicked his tongue to signal the Hyena, who flattened his pierced ears at the opportunity presented to him, leveling his fist.

SLAM!

Bound in place like livestock being branded, Wolf was forced to take the downpour of blows to his face. His sweaty hands fruitlessly tried to wrench himself free of the Sparrow’s grip, but his Avian bones were locked around his neck like a vice. Welts rose around his cut lip, as he struggled to breathe. His head would lull, and the Sparrow would yank it back up by the fur on his scalp. Just as his eyelids were growing puffy, Wolf saw the direction of the Hyena’s fist.

Except this time, he was ready.

Wolf’s mouth sprang open, catching the balled fist in his teeth and biting down. It was so horrifically unorthodox that it actually disarmed the wide-eyed Sparrow into releasing his grip on Wolf, who was still attached to the screaming Hyena’s hand. He stopped biting and caught his breath, spitting out a glob of fur with a scowl, while the Hyena retched on the ground, clutching his mangled, bloody fingers. The sight caused the Sparrow to grimace, all of the eagerness seeping out of him. He attempted to slip out the door unnoticed, but Wolf’s hands found him. In a single, blurring move of monstrous strength, Wolf grabbed and hurled the bird over his shoulder into the wall of drawers, the impact dislodging dozens of metal drawers with a deafening clang.

He wasn’t even allowed to wince in a crumpled heap; the Sparrow felt himself being rolled over on his back, hearing a rumbling noise from above…a guttural snarl that he’d never once heard from a civilized creature. Confused terror directed his pupils to Wolf standing over him. In that instant, he felt his throat tighten, staring up at the meek introvert he loved to provoke, now unable to recognize him through those dilated pupils or contorted features...

Wolf only did what came natural to him. He let the anger that he’d bottled up for so long spill out through his fingers.

When the other boys were jolted out of their daze on the floor, it was from the splattering sound of him squatting over their friend, beating him relentlessly. His knuckles drove into him with a sickening noise that turned over every stomach in the room, the Sparrow’s face rapidly becoming indiscernible in the mess of sprouting bruises and bloodied feathers.

“Jesus CHRIST! He’s butchering Kaz!” The Newt cried. “Get ‘him off!”

Wolf didn’t hear them over the buzzing in his ears. He didn’t stop hitting the boy—not when his knuckles started to ache, not when the flecks of blood started to splatter his face and blind him. He wasn’t thinking about home, or about Peppy.

Even when the wave of hands tackled him and blacked his vision out, all other thoughts were blanketed by the sole urge to beat the little cockroach in his grip to a pulp.

_Meanwhile, at the Cornerian Planetary Campus..._

“…and it’s for that reason why Olivia Hawthorne is still remembered today,” Peppy said, circling the stoic marble bust of a Tawny Owl. “Without her bold strides in the field of lightspeed theory, we’d be still embarking on crude voyages that would take _years_ to travel between planets, instead of days.”

There was a chortle of enthusiasm to Peppy’s voice, one that wasn’t shared by the group of schoolchildren he was leading through the Academy Halls. They were all middle-school aged, sparing little interest and even less of an attention span for what the he was talking about. Most of them were staring wistfully out the long windows, the beams of sunlight pouring in only serving to remind them how much of the day was slipping by.

It wasn’t boredom for everyone. Some of the students, like a young Otter Pup close to the back, were attentively scribbling down digi-notes to the Rabbit’s lecture. Behind her, she heard two boys whispering.

“How much longer is the lesson’s gonna go on for?” One of them sighed. “And of all the Star Fox Members to guest teach today, we got stuck with the lame one.”

“He isn’t lame,” the Otter turned to whisper back. “He’s seen more battles than you or I will ever see in our lifetime. Do you think he’s on the greatest starpilot team in the galaxy for nothing?”

“Whatever,” The other yawned. “I still wish we’d gotten James instead. Even Pigma’s at least good for a laugh. The Rabbit’s just boring.”

The Otter flattened her ears. _“You’re_ boring.”

It came out louder than she intended, a _lot_ louder. The other kids looked behind at her, and even Peppy raised his eyebrows.

“Oh, my. Offering a critique on my class, are we?”

The Otter covered her mouth, face flushing. “Mr. Hare, I didn’t mean—they were—I was just—”

He gave her a good-natured smile. “It’s alright. Some of this stuff can be a bit too dry and dull for me, too. But trust me when I say it’s _all_ important. Exam week’s gonna roll around, and you’re gonna wish you’d taken digi-notes on all this.” He paused as he spotted a Daschund’s small hand raised in the corner. “Question, Tim?”

“I was just wondering…how much of this history stuff are we gonna be learning? I mean, shouldn’t we be focusing on learning how to fly?”

Peppy twitched his whiskers bracingly. “Well, I don’t wanna be the bearer of bad news or anything, but flying of any sort is a good four years away for all of you.”

Instantly, the group of children let out a collective groan of disappointment, with one crying: “Are you _serious?_ Four years before we do any flying _at all?”_

“Now, now, it ain’t for no good reason,” Peppy assured them. “Look, you should all feel great about overcoming the early trials and getting into this Academy at all. That wasn’t easy to do. But starship training isn’t something you’re meant to do in this place…you’ll be doing plenty of that at the Orbital Academy.

A Salamander’s eyes became big. _“_ Orbital Academy? You mean there’s two of these schools?”

“Er, not exactly…” Peppy scratched the back of his head, as if struggling to explain it in a way that wouldn’t overwhelm them. “Basically, to give you all the skills you need to become a pilot, the Academy’s split into two places, that function as two separate wings of the school. All your book-learnin’ on galactic history and astro-science happens here on the Planetary Academy, in our Archives and Planetarium. But all your flight practice, combat training and the like?” He pointed a gloved finger upwards. “All that happens up at the Orbital Academy. It ain’t a school so much as a boot camp in space. It’ll be your final proving ground in the absence of a war.”

Rather than intimidate the children, Peppy’s explanation made them all wide-eyed and excited.

“But why do we have to do this book stuff at all?” One child asked. “Why can’t we just skip to the Orbital place? I’m ready to fly _now.”_

Peppy smiled at him. “I bet you are. But I wouldn’t get too giddy about runnin’ off there, if I were you. One day of training in _that_ place will make you beg for all these exams n’ assigned readings back, believe me…” A twinge of quiet discomfort briefly creased his face, before he cleared his throat. “But enough about that. Right, now I’d like you all to turn your attention to this.”

He turned his gaze towards a bronze, large-scale model of a starship hanging from the ceiling, sporting an archaic design of a bygone age, with sweeping Tychion energy sails and clunky hull stern thrusters from a time when G-Diffusers were a distant fantasy.

“As you can see, we’ve got lots of statues and busts in this hall, but this here’s our one starship model. Can anyone tell me who the owner of this ship was, and what their importance was?”

Before even a moment of silence went by, a Beagle shot his hand up.

“Oh, I know! It was that one really legendary guy…um, Ziio of Clan Brynthall, right? He helped lead the galaxy to victory in the last war ever fought, the one our calendar’s based on…the, um…Inner Something Crusade?”

“… _Interstellar_ Crusade,” Peppy corrected him. “That’s only half the answer, though. Ziio’s plenty famous for fighting, yes, but Lylatians didn’t spend centuries makin’ books and statues about him for that. It was somethin’ else. Anyone know?”

The students exchanged vacant expressions, struggling to muster anything. The Rabbit frowned, thumbing at his chin patiently.

“No one? Okay, how ‘bout this: Anybody know which army Ziio flew with during the war?”

One student raised his hand. “Well, the Zonetian Army, of course. He was a Bird, wasn’t he? He would’ve been from Zoness.”

“Not quite.” He surveyed the room. “Any other guesses?”

Slowly, the Otter raised her hand. “It’s a trick question, isn’t it? He didn’t fly with _any_ army.”

“Precisely!” Peppy beamed. “Ziio fought in the conflict, but not alongside any planet’s army…not even his own.”

“He didn’t fight next to his own people?” A Student asked. “What, did he just not care about them?”

“Far from it…it was his people who chose not to fight alongside _him._ Y’see, during the age of the Last War, before civilization as we know it, the galaxy was a very different place. There wasn’t a lick of unity between any of the races; each had little knowledge of the other, and even less trust. So, when the day came that the Venomians sparked the war with their invasion, the Avians of Zoness did the same as the rest of the galaxy...nothing. They watched the other planets fall one by one, concerned only with their own survival, ready to defend themselves when it was their turn. Ziio, on the other hand, couldn’t bear resignin’ more neighboring worlds to oblivion like his kin. He tried to rally ‘em against the Venomians, but they all refused. So he did something remarkable—he journeyed across Lylat to form a bold team of pilots hailing from numerous worlds and flew out to fight the entire Venomian Horde.”

A student stared with wide eyes. “By themselves? No fleet, no nothing?”

“No fleet, no nothin’...” Peppy stared past the bronze model ship. Even after years of reciting the same story, it was hard not to be swept by the same admiration. “The rest of the galaxy was just as stunned when they found out. It inspired them to rally their fleets together to finish what Ziio started, defeating Venom and securing peace for good…along with Ziio’s place in history.”

A child furrowed his eyebrows. “But…he went against his own planet. That makes him a traitor, doesn’t it?”

Peppy conceded a dip of his long ears. “Some could see it that way. But a soldier’s loyalties aren’t always a simple matter of what planet they belong to.”

“Oh, c’mon,” scoffed the child. “If a war broke out tomorrow, you guys in Star Fox would fight for Corneria, right?”

“If the cause was justified,” Peppy responded simply, knowing the shocked looks he’d get. “Look, I know many of you have been raised to believe that soldier’s first loyalty is to Fleet and Homeworld. And there ain’t nothing wrong with that. But there are times where the society and traditions around a soldier fall short of what he believes to be right…and the real betrayal would be to stand idly by.” He pointed up at the model. “That’s what Ziio’s ship represents: fighting for the cause you were born for, even when the world says otherwise.”

It was then, out of the corner of his eye, that he took notice of another adult in the room. A Corgi, standing in the far corner, attempted conspicuousness as he admired one of the statues…a Corneria Insignia pinned to his suit jacket.

Peppy turned back to the children. “Alright, that’ll be it for now, gang. Study the chapters on the Katinese Liberation, I'll be in my office after hours if anyone needs help preparing for Monday's test. You can all go outside… _nice and quietly,_ now.”

Naturally, the children scampered out in full sprint, their eager chatter echoing throughout the hall. Peppy kept all wariness from reaching his eyes as the Government Official strode towards him.

“Good afternoon, Captain Hare. My name is Marley, I’m with the CDF Affairs Office...I hope I’m not interrupting.”

Peppy shook his head. “Not at all, lesson’s over. And please...just ‘Peppy’, son. I haven’t been ‘Captain Hare’ since my fleet brat days, and those are a good twenty years and forty pounds behind me.” He glanced at him. “You’re a tad bit young to be running around with the suits up at HQ. You new?”

The Corgi adjusted glasses. “Recently appointed. And I just want to say what an honor it is to meet you, Capta—I mean, sir. The stories of you and the Team’s exploits were something I grew up on.”

Peppy looked pleasantly surprised. “Well, that’s...awfully flatterin’ son. What can I do for you? If it’s Team business, I’m afraid James and Pigma are on leave at the moment.”

“Actually, I’m here in regards to a more personal matter. The boy called Wolf O’Donnell is under your care, is he not?”

Peppy's heart sank instantly. _Not now...not when he’s so close to being approved for release..._ “Listen, whatever he’s done, I can vouch for him. Are you from the Warden's office? Because I have a friend down there who can give you a file on all of Wolf’s good behavior for the last—”

“Ease up, Captain. Wolf isn’t in trouble,” The Official assured him. “I'm here on behalf of the Office of CDF Training, Aero-Space Division—there’s a government matter that’s arisen regarding your boy.”

He blinked. “A government inquiry? On a _sixteen-year-old?”_

“Yes. Upon reviewing his file, we found a few murky spots that needed clarifying. I was hoping you could help out, as his guardian.” Without waiting for Peppy’s consent, he pulled out a folding electronic clipboard and started consulting it. “We’ve already been filled in on a few details by Planetary Citizen Affairs on the unique nature of the boy’s finding, and his ‘special care’...”

Immediately, Peppy lowered his voice and ushered him behind a seclusive pillar. “Then they must've also told you that it's not something we want spread around the public sphere,” He hissed, looking around. “…or the halls of this school.”

The man dipped his head apologetically. “Believe me, Captain, we have no intention of starting a public scandal. Where you found him will remain classified, as you requested…as well the untimely demise of his parents. Which I’m told, you still haven’t informed him about.”

Peppy straightened. “No, and I don’t plan on changin’ my mind any time soon.” He glared at him suspiciously. “You seem to have plenty of intel on Wolf already. What d’you need from _me_ exactly?”

“Very well, Captain, I’ll be frank.” He dropped his formal tone. “You must understand the questions raised by the… _unorthodoxy_ of this boy’s case. Turning up on a desolate planet, alive with no memory of how he got there, perfectly able to speak Lylarean in spite of no feasible upbringing...” He raised his eyebrows. “That part of his profile would be strange enough by itself. But then there’s the matter of how he grew up…an area which, I’m afraid, isn’t as thorough as we’d like.”

Immediately seeing where this was going, Peppy folded his arms barringly. “That all depends on your definition of thorough.”

The Corgi smiled reassuringly. “Nothing unsavory, just a few broad questions…” He eyed the Academy walls. “I understand he was a student here, then got expelled before his transfer up to the Orbital Campus. Last thing on his record is his incarceration at the East Sub-Block Correctional Facility. I take it by the way you greeted me that he’s still there.”

Worming discomfort entered Peppy’s stomach. “…Yes.”

“And the reason for his containment, if I may ask? The file doesn’t specify an event in particular.”

“It _wasn’t_ just one event…” Peppy muttered, stuffing his hands in his pockets lamentingly. “He was mounting infractions the whole time he was here. When he finally breached the limit last year, the state intervened.”

The Official tapped his clipboard. “…and what’s troubling the boy specifically? ‘Acts of aggression’ and ‘problems with authority’ are a bit vague.”

Peppy hesitated. “Wolf’s had trouble...adjusting. You gotta understand, he came from a different environment than these other boys. The cautiousness, the survival instincts, the distrust...try as we might, we never fully got ‘em out of his system.” He looked off distantly. “James, Pigma n’ I were bent on givin’ him a proper upbringing, but, well...” His voice trailed off into a tired sigh. “I guess it was easier said than done.”

“You were attempting primary socialization with him, correct?” The Official asked. “That parenting process of teaching children the cues and norms to blend in society…although his was happening at age nine instead of three.”

Peppy’s eyes fell to the clipboard. “I see you’ve been seeing Wolf’s psychologist.”

“Not personally. Just his extensive notes…” The Corgi consulted the monochrome screen. “The aggression and authority problems…were they present while you were raising him?”

“No, no. He was fine at home—” Peppy insisted. “He learned things fast, got along with my Lucy, played away those first few years like any other kid; even got admitted here at the Planetary Academy when he was twelve. We thought we’d finally achieved resilience, gotten him to develop normally in spite of everything he went through on Venom, until…”

His affectionate smile faded. The Official cleared his throat expectantly. “…until?”

“We decided to trade in home school for actual school...” Peppy’s voice hollowed. “And everything spilled out. Too much and too fast, around the other kids.”

The Corgi tilted his head. “ _Because_ of the other kids, you mean.”

Peppy paused. “...Yes. He stuck out, in spite of all we did to help him blend in. Even though the other children had no idea about where he was really from, they could tell he was different…and they homed in on it.”

“Sounds like the average affair at school. Nothing abnormal about being jostled around by other children…”

Peppy stiffened. “Yes, but there was one part of that equation that wasn’t normal: Wolf havin’ spent the first decade of his life alone, in a wasteland where he never had to restrain himself. So havin’ others gang up on him, even for somethin’ as harmless as a laugh at his expense…he wouldn’t react to it well. He’d misinterpret things you n’ I could shake off, react a lot more strongly than other kids would.

“We quickly realized we hadn’t socialized him as well as we thought. We raced to work with him while he was attending, but one thing led to another...incidents with other boys grew, infractions piled up...finally, the School Board wouldn’t stand for it anymore. I tried to keep him out of Juvenile Confinement, but...they said it would be bias if I were to intervene.” The Rabbit’s voice shambled helplessly. “And things were _just_ starting to turn around for him. He was finally fittin’ in with the new home we’d given him...I’d never seen him that happy.”

In the reflection of the monochrome screen, the Corgi’s eyebrows arched above his glasses. “When you say that the problems started at school, are you referring to that ‘incident’ when he was twelve?”

A bolt of alarm straightened Peppy up. “What incident?

“According to this, he had an emotional episode with another boy at this Academy, one that caused him to enter irregular fits of silence; wouldn’t speak a word to other children for three years.” He fixed a shrewd gaze on him. “All of the clashes with other children started after that, including the one that got him expelled last year…but the case file doesn’t disclose any details on the incident itself. What exactly happened?”

Peppy narrowed eyes immediately. He fortified his voice with a steely tone. “If you really got that file from Citizen Affairs, you’d know all details relating to that incident are classified. We got a guarantee of confidentiality for what happened. And I won’t be handing out sensitive information like candy, it’s all the same to you...Wolf’s suffered enough without that incident getting out.” 

“Easy, Captain. No offense meant, just verifying what I’ve been given.” The Corgi folded his glasses away. “I must confess, his physiological and mental growth is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. Is the boy...mentally unwell?”

Peppy’s long ears sank with an exasperated sigh, hating every instance where he had to answer that question. “Goodness, no. Nothin’ like that. It’s just, his survivalist instincts never really turned off; all those years in the caves fendin’ for himself groomed a lot of aggressive impulses and emotional instability…both of which would come out in full force, whenever he’d get picked on or harassed. Even after years of us trying, it kept on getting him into trouble.” He looked up determinedly. “But it ain’t anything he can help. He’s a good boy.”

“Hmm. He's being released today, right?”

“I don’t know. It depends if he’s on the approved list.” There was a tired prayer in his voice, before he directed it back at him. “What’s the point of all this, son? Are all these questions leadin’ somewhere, or what?”

Smiling almost on queue, the Official slipped his fingers into his jacket. “Well, being a Teacher here at the Planetary Academy, I’m certain that you’re well aware of the admission procedure—the reflex tests, the high velocity resistance assessments—everything we’ve been offering children with flight potential since the invention of holographic simulators.”

“You’re giving a history lesson to someone who teaches ‘em, son. What does this have to do with Wolf?”

“He took those same tests to get approved here, with…adequate results. After he was suspended and sent to rehabilitation, we weren’t considering him for any future in our fleet. However…”

Peppy’s eyebrows launched.

His fingers produced a folded piece of paper. “Well, about two months ago, the CDF decided to administer a Recreational Flight Test Program to Youth Centers like the one O'Donnell’s currently at. We offer the program to any boys with improving behavioral records and willingness to try out our latest simulation programs. Wolf was the only ex-student in his facility, so we were expecting a decent score from him…but only just. Then his results came in this morning.” He proudly held them up. “He topped all competing scores combined.”

 _“...what?”_ Peppy took the paper hastily. “This can't be right. He came out on top of all the boys in the facility?”

“Not all the boys; all fifteen facilities we examined.”

The Rabbit was speechless, his maroon eyes scanning the document to re-affirm it for himself.

“As you can see, sir, the CDF has plenty of reason to re-ignite our interest in Wolf’s potential. And we’d like to reinstate his status as an Academy student, with full entry to the Orbital Academy for his final training.” He stopped himself with a cough. “…with yours and his other guardians’ consent, of course.”

The paper lowered in Peppy’s hand. “Wow. I’ll be damned, that’s just...” Then, he paused curiously. “I wasn't made aware of these…whatcha call ‘em? ‘Recreational Test Programs’? Since when does the Defense Force dip their hands into juvenile centers for new recruits?” 

“We at the Defense Fleet feel that, with the galaxy having been at peace for so long, there’s no need to maintain such a high barrier of entry into the Flight Academy,” declared the Corgi proudly, who seemed to have rehearsed all this a little too well. “Lylat’s in a different time now, and as Cornerians, we want to extend our reach for new candidates. With no battlefield to pluck them from, we'll have to scour more broadly for this generation's best pilots, starting with opening the Academy to those with less...privileged backgrounds. Orphanages, group homes, adoption shelters, even juvenile facilities brimming with youngsters wanting another chance…or in the case of your Wolf, students whose futures were cut short by ill-advised decisions. Anyone who shows the right kind of potential is worth considering for our fleet. We’re even willing to reduce their tuition by letting them bypass the Planetary Academy and go straight to the Orbital Academy.”

Peppy frowned. “That’s awfully considerate of you.” 

“I’m pleased you agree, sir.”

“But I have to ask: why is the CDF doing this now?” Peppy asked. 

The Corgi’s broad, commercial-esque smile faded into confusion. “Sir?”

“The Fleet’s never shown any interest in expanding the school’s reach whenever James and I have asked for it in the past. We’ve been turned down every time. And there’s no sudden shortage of students coming in every year. So, what brought this on?”

Ears still flicking confusion, the Corgi straightened up. “Progress, Captain Hare. It’s bound to happen sooner or later. I’m certain the Heads of the Fleet came to that realization as well. We have to start considering children's potential outside of where we normally look. Simple as that.”

There wasn’t any dishonesty in the man’s face, at least as far as Peppy could tell. He dismissed it, looking back at the paper in his hand with some lingering doubt.

“So you're just willing to take ‘em? Regardless of their...background?” 

“If you’re worried about Wolf, I can assure you...don’t. The CDF is aware of your boy's troubling record, Captain Ha--er, Peppy. Suspension from the Academy and a Rehabilitation Sentence isn't something we take lightly, no matter how brief.” 

Peppy looked up. “But?”

“But we're willing to overlook both in light of the boy's undeniable skill,” admitted the Corgi. “These are rare and unexpected circumstances...and the CDF is willing to enroll Wolf under an anonymous record, given a special condition is met.” 

“What condition?”

Just as the eagerness and desperation was overwhelming Peppy, a beeping noise from under his sleeve went off. He pulled it back and thumbed the switch on his wrist-comm hastily, only for a garbled voice to crackle through.

_“This is Sherman from the East Sub-Block Facility 62B—is the frequency of one of Wolf O’Donnell’s guardians?”_

He instantly felt the glow of good news and streaming daylight through the windows falter. “…Yes, this is Peppy Hare. Has something happened with Wolf?”

_“I think you’d better get down here, sir. There’s been an episode with another boy…again.”_

o – o – o – o – o – o – o – o – o – o – o – o – o

By the time the guards had finally shown up, the fight had dragged out to an exhaustive length…by which time, Wolf’s face had been reduced to a battered mess. Head lulling over the disciplinary room’s table where he was cuffed, he strained to make out his face in the filthy mirror adjacent to him. Two streams of blood gushed from his nose like a faucet, striping down and dripping off his chin. Cuts and puffy welts collaged his cheeks, while a particularly fat bruise circled his eye like rubber. He couldn’t make out the rest of the damage with how the swelling burnt his foggy eyes, but he could feel it. The unrelenting cold air stung all raw spots, barely keeping him awake.

The sound of the slide door drew his weary glance, barely making out the pear-shaped object that walked in, with its white jacket and cozy maroon eyes.

His face lit up upon seeing Peppy, before he caught sight of that stony expression that always came before a biting lecture, and he realized why he was here. He lowered his gaze back down.

“The guards told me about the scuffle you got into,” said Peppy. “You wanna tell me how all this came about?”

Wolf didn’t answer, biting a response under his mouth and staring off into the wall.

The Rabbit’s eyes were locked on him sternly. “Wolf, look at me. What happened?”

Again, no answer. Peppy yanked a chair out and sat across from him, placing himself where the boy couldn’t ignore him forever.

“You said you wouldn’t do this again, Wolf. I don’t know what this is; the third or the fourth time that I’ve had you moved to some new part of the facility, with new cell mates that don’t know you, on the promise that you wouldn’t start anything again...that you’d change.” There was a dose of hurt in his voice. “Were you just lying to me when you said all that? Just so you could get off easy?”

Wolf felt a stab of discomfort, eyes still refusing to meet him. He could’ve told him the truth about what happened, what had made him tackle the other boy…but he didn’t have the heart to repeat any of the things the Sparrow had said about Peppy. Not to his face.

Perceiving his silence as more of his usual defiance, Peppy stiffened. “I don’t know who you’re trying to impress with the moody silence. There’s no one here to show off to. And you’ve shown off plenty with the spectacle you made out there.”

“I wasn’t showing off.” A spike of anger loosened Wolf’s voice. “You don’t know why I did it.”

“Because there’s not a justifiable reason for what you did,” said Peppy flatly. “There never is, and never will be. I thought time in here would’ve taught you that by now.”

Wolf already knew where this was going. He kept his eyes swerved to the side. “…Save it. I don’t need another lecture.”

Peppy folded his arms. “Well, you’re going to hear it anyway. I have stuck up for you non-stop, tried to give you every shot at improving, at getting you out of here...and all you’ve done is throw it back into my face. It’s like you don’t even care.”

Guilt squirmed in Wolf’s stomach. It was taking all his restraint not to blurt out what actually happened.

 _“Look at me,_ Wolf,” demanded Peppy.

Wolf sighed around the sting in his mouth, his bruised eye wandering back to him.

“Is this going to be the way things are going to be between us?” The Rabbit’s voice buried into him like a hatchet. “You getting into trouble, and me fishing you out? Me prostrating myself to Teachers and Wardens to keep you out of the isolation hall, promising all kinds of good behavior, while you start a fight with every boy in sight? Do you _want_ to spend the rest of your adolescence behind bars?”

“You’re talking like I didn’t try to get out of here!” Wolf snapped. “You have any idea hard I worked to keep a spotless record, to be on good behavior? I did everything...and that STILL wasn’t good enough! But that little shitstain and all of his friends, THEY get to leave...while I stay behind and rot. How the hell is that fair?!”

“You can’t act like your leagues better after what you’ve done,” Peppy said coldly. “You sent that boy to the hospital with most of his teeth missing—”

“I would’ve removed _all_ of them, if those other cretins hadn’t stepped in,” Wolf cut over him savagely. “Maybe then he’d think twice before flapping his gums about things he doesn’t understand.”

“So that’s what all of this was over? An insult?” Peppy stared at him incredulously. “You got in a fight like this over your bruised ego…?”

Realizing he said too much, Wolf shrank back in his chair, turning his gaze back to the wall.

“Unbelievable. Two years in this place, and you haven’t changed a bit.” Peppy’s voice was layered with uncharacteristically bitter disappointment. “I’d have thought you’d have spent this time working hard to better yourself. You _promised_ me you would.”

Wolf growled quietly. “I stood my ground and didn’t let them walk all over me…I’m not going to apologize for that.” He glared at him. “ _You_ may be used to lying down and taking it, but I’m not.”

Peppy swelled. The way he angrily twitched his nose might have been funny if not for the bitter exchange. “I won’t be made the enemy here. You _know_ standing your ground isn’t an option…you’re not like other kids! When someone pushes you, you don’t push back…you _maim._ Which is why I keep telling you to avoid confrontations, even if you refuse to listen…”

It was taking all of Wolf’s restraint not to turn those last words against him. He stared at the wall, feeling his agitation bubble. He already knew what Peppy would’ve done in his place, spending everyday having the other boys probe and pick at him like a scab…and that was precisely nothing.

And knowing that infuriated Wolf.

“I know how you feel,” Peppy continued. “I know how might temptin’ it is to hit back at people who deserve it, how good it feels in the moment… “ His eyebrows locked together sternly. “But there are times where it’s better to just take the fall n’ keep going. Take the harassment or blows in stride, instead of makin’ the situation worse…or turn it into a bloodbath. You never even entertain that as an option, and that’s the problem. Even back in the Academy, you’d—”

Finally, Wolf exploded. “None of that crap works down here, _that’s_ the problem!” He shouted over the Rabbit. “You don’t get it, do you? You live in that comfy bubble where you think if you’re nice to everybody and turn the other cheek all the time, no one will ever bother you! You will stand there and let people kick dirt in your face, and you won’t even fight back. It’s useless, _stupid,_ and you’re too stubborn to see it! That’s why everyone—”

He stopped suddenly. He had almost let it out: _That’s why everyone makes fun of you._

Peppy blinked. “That’s why everyone what?”

It was an awful moment when Wolf gave a pained look to the oblivious Rabbit, guilt lodged in his throat.

“…Nothing. Forget it.” He let out a frustrated sigh. “Look, there’s no point in arguing about this. It won’t what happened today, or that I didn’t make the Parole…” His head slid apologetically. “…or that I let you down again.”

A sympathetic look melted Peppy’s stern expression. It was already out of character for Wolf to back out of an argument; but now he had abandoned all pride and was wearing his defeated expression openly, too emotionally drained to care.

“…I know I’m always letting you down, Peppy. Always making a new mess for you, even when I don’t mean to.” His voice sank. “M’sorry there’s never any good news whenever you come to visit…”

It took some effort for Peppy to keep the smile from reaching his face. “I wouldn’t be too sure of that, bud.”

“Oh? How’s that?” Wolf grumbled dubiously.

“Believe it or not, you actually did something right while you were here…” He slid the paper on the table under Wolf’s nose. “Something that caught the attention of some people up at the Cornerian Defense Fleet.”

His bruised eye lingered over the paper for a stunted second, before his head jerked up.

“The Fleet? Who—?”

“I didn’t come down here just to lecture you, Wolf.” He straightened, face glowing. “I’m here to get you outta here…get you ready to head to the Orbital Flight Academy tomorrow.”

Wolf’s expression immediately collapsed, his mouth dropping open. “W… _What?!_ But—why, how—?”

“Someone up at CDF Command saw you take a spin in that flight sim a few weeks back. They think you have a lot of untapped talent, and that it’d be an awful waste to let it rot behind bars. In fact, they’re so convinced of your potential to become an asset to the Fleet, they’re willing to overlook all your past behavior and give you another chance to prove yourself.”

It took a few electrifying moments for Wolf to take it all in, a glimmer of hope breaking out on his face for the first time in years.

“Really? T-They said that?”

“Hold up—” Peppy planted a hand on the approval form. “Don’t get giddy just yet. You’re not gettin’ off scott-free. They’re letting you into the Orbital Academy knowin’ full well that you got expelled from its Planetary counterpart, so they’ll be watching for even an ounce of your old behavior. You put one toe or even a whisker outta line, and they’ll send you back here in a heartbeat. And to make sure you don’t...they’ve demanded a condition to be met if you’re gonna attend.”

Wolf’s chair screeched with how quickly he sat up in it. “What? What do they need me to do? I’ll do anything!”

Peppy paused, preparing to ease him into what was coming. “Stuff like this...like today, like the incident that landed you in here...none of this can happen over there. So…” 

“Believe me, I’d love to just be able to blend in and avoid any trouble…but it’s never that easy,” Wolf said hastily. “But this time, I’ll get it right. I’ll—”

“That’s not what the condition is. I’ve been told what we need is a change of leadership, so to speak. A firmer hand.” His whiskers wavered sheepishly. “I’ve never believed that a firm hand is what’s needed to nudge a boy in the right direction, but…it’s possible that during your time with me that I might’ve coddled you a bit. And that’s not what’s needed to help you grow or improve.” He paused bracingly. “So, while you’re at the Academy, you’re going to be under James’ custody, not mine. _That’s_ the condition.”

“…Oh.” Wolf’s voice noticeably changed. “Does James know about this whole arrangement?” His brow raised skeptically. “And did he puke his guts out when he heard it?”

“Look, I know you n’ James aren’t fond of each other,” Peppy admitted. “But maybe James will succeed where I haven’t in getting you to improve.”

“Are you sure about that? He couldn’t even be bothered to turn up here in the two years I’ve been here.”

It was Peppy’s turn to lock up in uncomfortable silence. “Look, I know you two didn’t exactly leave on good terms after that argument back home. I don’t condone some o’ the things said, but…” He swallowed before belting out the same, tired mantra. “But however strict he is, he has your best interests in mind.”

Wolf let out a bloody snort.

“And anyway, he’ll be acting as your instructor like everyone else attending classes…which, I’m sure he won’t object to. That way, nothing will get personal between you both. And that’s where you come in.” He sighed deeply, shutting his eyes. “Wolf, you’ve got to promise me that you won’t start anything with him while you’re there.”

Wolf rolled his eyes, muttering. “I won’t if _he_ doesn’t.”

“This isn’t about whatever quarrels you’ve had in the past…it’s about the CDF, watching you both. Mark my words, the rules about confrontations apply to being with him, too. You gotta show some self-control under James, reel that anger in. Whatever happens, no matter what anybody says or does to provoke you…you shrug it off and stay in line.”

“But what if James—?” Wolf began protesting.

Peppy pinned his sentence with a gloved finger. “‘But’, nothing. You steer clear of any fights or arguments that come your way, no matter who it’s from. If James acts a bit harsh, you’re going to need to suck it up. Save all that pent up impulse for the cockpit, and keep it there. Got it?”

Wolf grumbled something unintelligible, suddenly becoming less and less enamored with this arrangement.

Peppy leaned forward. “Wolf, this isn’t just about what the CDF wants, or Academy rules. I’m saying all this for you. You’re gonna be around other kids. Regular kids.”

“You mean ‘normal’?”

“You know that’s not what I meant,” said Peppy firmly. “We’ve talked about this. You’re as good as any other kid, bud…even a little special in your own way. But the rest of the world just isn’t ready for someone like you. And no matter how special you are to me, everyone else might not see the good qualities you have…just the things that make you different. These other kids didn’t grow up in a cave, don’t see a threat around every corner or in every shadow like you do. They didn’t grow up like you did, and they’ll just assume on first glance that you’re one of them—and you need to feed that assumption by leaving all this savagery and antsy behavior in this cell.” His maroon eyes dropped their stern façade and fixed on him pleadingly. “You have to mind how you conduct yourself…for me. Can you do that for me, bud?

Wolf hesitated. After today’s incident, he wasn’t sure if he could keep that promise, even to himself. Nevertheless, he gave a half-hearted nod for the Rabbit’s sake, who rose to his feet.

“Good. Now, let’s get you home. Lucy’s off-planet, so we got the house back to ourselves.” He offered a small smile. “There’s some cold pizza in the fridge. Looks to me like you could use some…”

He watched Wolf stand up dazedly and almost topple over, prompting him to rush over and hoist him up.

“…oof, maybe some stitches, too.”

Wolf mumbled. “…Pizza first.” He creaked his head up, eyeing him through a bruised eyelid. And Peppy…thanks. For, y’know…not bailing out on me all these years. You didn’t give up on me once…I’ll make it up to you, someday.”

Peppy reached up to ruffle the fur between his ears like he used to, a much harder task with how tall Wolf was getting. “Hey, I always knew you could do it. What do I always say?”

Despite his bruises and swollen nose, Wolf cracked a weary smirk. “‘A well-timed barrel roll can get you out of any mess?’”

Peppy rolled his eyes. “Oh, for the love of—You’re just like one o’ my students. I say that _one time_ during a lesson, and I never hear the end of it.” He sighed exasperatedly. “The OTHER thing.”

Wolf half-smiled. “‘Don’t give up hope till the flight is over…and you’ve got plenty of flyin’ to do’.”

He lightly clapped him on the shoulder. “Always remember that…‘specially where you’re going. In some ways, that stubbornness o’ yours is your worst quality…but like I always say, it’s also your best. You can make it the best part of you, use it to push yourself. Believe me, there’s gonna be days when those Academy folks will wanna fly every hot-headed ounce of confidence outta you, make every day a challenge. But it’ll be up to you to meet it…to become the pilot I know you can be.” He beamed winningly. “Heck, when you graduate, I’ll bet you’ll be able to fly circles around even me.”

Wolf chuckled around a battered cough. “Pfft, no. No matter what I pull, I’m not gonna surpass the best.

“Well…you probably won’t impress ‘em on your first day like I did,” Peppy admitted, suppressing a sly look “Speakin o’ which, did I ever tell you that story?”

Taking solace in his cozy voice like an old chair, Wolf smiled. “Only about a hundred times. But I’m sure there’s a detail you’ve left out.”

His mind drifted as the Rabbit chortled on, relaxing on his shoulder. Things were finally starting to look up.


	4. Gathering Of Stars

Chapter 4: Gathering Of Stars

_Triford_ - _class LTL Shuttle, Cornerian Space_

"I'm Clarissa Danes, and you're listening to Corneria News Hour, your gateway to the galaxy. It's a scalding summer morning, but not quite as scalding as accusations made against Katina, following high levels of photon activity in the Bergen Rift just off their borders. CDF Officials accused Katina of using the area for weapon tests, but the Katinese Royal Family have denied such claims, calling them 'insecure delusions of canines petrified at the prospect of another planet outpacing them'. _Ouch._ Little bit of trash-talk from our feline friends there. This—"

_Click._

" **When you introduce Orion Fur Gel to your morning routine, you'll notice the change…and so will she. Its lush sheen and powerful scent, perfect for a beach day or nightlife escapade, will make you stand out like never bef—"**

_Click._

"—and what if it happens again? How many VLA attacks will it take before we finally decide to crack down? What if _another_ violent fringe of Simmies pop up? Callers, you tell us what you think. Fifteen seconds on the air—"

_Click._

"— **tune into Flash Funk FM tonight for our Midnight Raffle. That's right, you and your bestie might have a shot at dancing the night away to the dulcet tones of Zero-Gigi, live on her Saturday concert. But first, let Caleb And the Birds of Paradise sizzle your morning with their hottest single, 'Cosmic Kisses'** _ **..**_ **."**

"Hey, you sure we can't switch seats?"

The Bullfrog stopped switching radio stations at the sound of his friend's voice, yanking his headphones off one ear impatiently. "Joey, I already said 'no'."

Frowning, the golden fox next to him continued to whine. "C'mon, let me have the window seat. The Academy's gonna come up on that side, and I wanna see it!"

"Well, fuck off and find someone else who wants to switch seats, then!"

The Fox blew a raspberry and stood up, trying to retain balance as the Transport Shuttle routinely bumped from a jolt of turbulence outside. He browsed the other seats, all cluttered with gossiping kids wearing the same white-and-blue Starting Year uniforms as him. He spotted another fox, this one fluffy and red, staring out the window with an empty seat beside him.

"Hey, you! Mind if we switch seats?"

Seemingly snapped out of staring aimlessly out the window, jerking around dazedly. "Hmm?"

"I was kinda hopin' to get a good view of the Orbital Academy when it turns up. D'you mind switching?"

The other Fox's face flushed, mumbling something unintelligible before slipping away, much to the Golden Fox's delight.

"Sweet, thanks, man!" He plopped down happily, pressing his snout against the window. "I cannot friggin' wait to land. D'you think they have anything cool planned for our first day?"

"Besides a bunch of first-time drills and routines?" The Bullfrog grumbled. "I doubt it. It's gonna be us versus the upper classmen all week, lemme tell you."

"I still can't believe James McCloud is going to be the one teaching us. Can you imagine what he's like? I saw an interview with him on the news last night. God, I hope he's that cool in real life."

An excited female Squirrel in the front row turned around in her seat. "Did you hear the rumor that his son's attending this year?"

The Bullfrog's green jowls wobbled in disbelief. "Get outta here _._ Fox McCloud, training with _us?"_

"Holy crap, if that's true…" The Golden Fox's eyes became huge. "Imagine if we ended up in the same class with him. Or got to _fly_ with him. Maybe he could even teach us a few moves if we asked him, or for a ride in his Dad's Arwing…holy CRAP, that would be cool."

The Bullfrog scoffed. "Yeah, right, as if he'd hang out with the likes of us."

The Squirrel began drumming her fingers against the window, looking curious. "Y'know, it's weird… I almost forgot James _had_ a son. He's barely in any photos or holovids."

"Y'think maybe it's a conspiracy?" asked the Fox. "That all the press about James having a son are fake, and that's why we never see him?"

The Bullfrog rolled his eyes. "You think everything's a conspiracy, Joey. Use your brain for a second: what's more likely, that he's telling the world about a fake son he doesn't have, or that maybe he's just trying to keep him out of the spotlight till he's old enough? Hell, if he's like any other galactic celebrity, he probably got him homeschooled."

"Private lessons with James McCloud…" The Golden Fox practically swooned. "Just imagine all the tricks he must've taught him. He's probably lightyears ahead of the rest of us already."

"Surely not." The Squirrel's ears twitched dubiously. "He's attending the Flight School, isn't he? He must be here to learn _something._ Besides, I bet he isn't a show-off. He's probably nervous, just like the rest of us."

"No way. You don't come from James McCloud of all people, and turn out some boring, normal kid," said the Bullfrog. "I bet he's larger than life, just like his dad…"

In their excited gossiping, none of them noticed how the boy who'd just given up his seat to retreat to the back row was suddenly shifting in his seat. He immediately swerved his face to the window to hide it from view, clutching the arm-rests uncomfortably. He heard one of the kids' voices spring up again.

"Hey, what if he's on this bus, right now?"

The words caused his heart to skip a beat. He looked very hard outside the window, pretending to be fixated on the gleaming ridgeline of Corneria's planetary atmosphere below. He could practically feel the other kids' eyes scanning the rows of seats, examining all the foxes on board, including him. Finally, one of them laughed dismissively.

"C'mon. Even if he was here, he wouldn't be one of _these_ kids."

"Are you sure?" asked the Squirrel. "He's supposed to be our age."

The Bullfrog snorted. "Have you _seen_ pictures of James McCloud at our age? The kid's probably built like a dreadnought, just like his dad was. Besides, you really think a _McCloud_ of all people would be riding around a shuttle with a bunch of ordinary cadets? Nah. He's probably gonna be ridin' into school in an Arwing or something." He yanked his headphones back on, reiterating. "Believe me, we'll know him when we see him…I just hope we get to be the ones who run into him first."

None of them paid any mind to the red fox sitting in the back row, whose ears were drooping the longer the conversation went on.

_Be careful what you wish for._

Fox had spent all morning convincing his dad to let him fly on a public shuttle, and he was already regretting it. In his head, it sounded like a nice alternative to being flown around covertly by ROB or somebody; it would be a chance to be invisible, blend in for once…maybe if he got lucky, even talk to other kids and make a few friends under the cover of anonymity. In practice, however, not only was he too shy to kick some nerve into himself to talk to anybody, but the topic of James McCloud's Mysterious Son had arisen once again, effectively forcing him to retreat to where he hoped everyone would ignore him. The last thing he needed was to start the first morning of school with more comparisons to Dad, and more expectations hauled onto his shoulders. Numerous fears and hopes about his first day at the Academy were already balling like an ache in his stomach the closer the shuttle drew to its destination. Now, listening to other kids' chatter was making it worse.

 _Don't think about it…_ He told himself. _Don't think about_ any _of it. Everyone's gonna mess up the first day, not just you. Nobody's eyes are on you yet…just keep to yourself._ Fox exhaled deeply and looked out the window next to him, savoring his invisible status for as long as he could.

"Look outside, THERE!"

A huge blast of light from outside caused everyone to stop talking instantly, pressing their noses and whiskers up against the windows.

Gasps and cheering erupted from the busload of students as a cluster of Academy Training Ships tore through the starfield outside, the emerald glow of their graviton-generator cores illuminating everyone's faces. It wasn't certain if the pilots were conducting exercises, or just showing off for the shuttle, but it didn't matter to everyone onboard. They watched as the silver ships would bank and accelerate in unified formation, with starlight to racing across their reflective canopies.

" _ **Attention, students."**_ The Transport Bot in the driver's seat ordered in the closest tone its audio banks could replicate irritation. _**"Please refrain from crowding the windows and return to your seats. We are entering Academy Airspace. Fasten your seatbelts and remain stationary."**_

Everyone had to pry their gazes away from the sweeping ships to see that the robotic driver was right, crowding the windows and craning to get a better look.

The Orbital Academy came into view, sitting at a slight tilt and hovering above the curve of the Cornerian atmosphere. The magnificent satellite was the pride and joy of its architect, Beltino Toad, so it naturally had several nods to the architecture on his homeworld. Pearly alloys, marine-blue pylons, fin-shaped comm arrays and other commonplace staples of Aquas' undersea cities adorned its exterior. Even the structure's curved white walls that rose in a swirling formation gave it the look of an unfurling lotus, in typical Aquatian fashion. A cone of churning blue flame emanated from the pulsating reactor core that kept the structure afloat, sending out an ambient rumble that could be felt by passing ships. Past the large rotating docking ring that the Academy was encased in, Dreadnought-class cruisers were docked and being attended to by the tiny specks of OX-N robots bobbing back and forth.

The tiny shuttle made its approach, following the trail of blue neon lights to the huge plated shield doors accompanied by monstrous laser turrets.

" _Shuttle 5, this is Orbital Flight Control,"_ A canine voice on the overhead speakers demanded. _"State your business and clearance code."_

The immense security raised a few nervous gulps, but surprised no one. An institution as old and prestigious as the Cornerian Flight Academy prized its safe-guarded tactics and secrets…and they were staying inside its gates.

Rather than respond, the Transport Bot plugged its stubby arms into its terminal. The craft's shields pulsated gold as it was being scanned, before the overhead speak rang with a clearance chirp, and the canine voice returned.

" _Clearance code checks out."_ Slight mirth was present in the voice. _"Welcome to the Orbital Academy, rookies."_

With a rumbling lurch, the huge plated shield doors slid open to reveal the containment field, a huge plasma barrier that rippled like a pool of water as the Shuttle gently passed through. But where the usual lurch of docking and hissing of airlock assembly would've happened, the shuttle kept on flying. Upon entering, it was greeted not by a bustling hangar, but a surge of white light that caused everyone to squint groggily blanketed the shuttle windows, before something dense and wispy started to gather around the shuttle upon entry… _clouds,_ in which the ship dropped out of immediately.

The entire busload of kids expelled a collective: _"WHOA…"_

Through optical tricks or technology, the Academy interior looked identical to the sunlit grove of an actual planet, with green hedge-laden grounds and trees, _and its own sky._ Stark blue with a sunlight beaming through the clouds, the whole interior was encased in a colossal holographic cluster dome, its enormous screens stretching all around them to supplant the artificial surrounded the white Academy buildings below, while small dots walked about and relaxed under the dome's simulated first glance, the Academy looked less like a school and more like a resort—akin to those pricey Vacation Satellites stationed near metropolitan moons that simulated exotic destinations for the super-rich who were too lazy for exhaustive space travel. But the Academy's technological hoodwinking went even beyond _that._ It was so real, so lush and authentic that it looked like it had been plucked right out of an actual planetscape.

Fox felt his eyes expand. All the eye-popping scenery and architecture, _inside_ a hovering space structure…it was just mind-blowing. He and everyone else aboard were glued to the windows, drinking in every inch of the interior…at least, until their awestruck attention was unceremoniously stolen by a squadron of sleek training ships soaring over the Academy grounds. They managed to rise in altitude to match the shuttle, cruising in their normal formation while all the children gawked at them.

Without a warning brake, the lead ship yanked its nose up into a somersault, making the squadron break formation and scatter like a frightened school of fish. Everyone watched as the ship swan-dived, spiraling garishly and racing towards the ground, almost colliding with its own shadow in the grass—before the daring pilot broke last-second and jettisoned back skyward.

It was clearly just showy antics, but it enraptured the onlookers. Their hearts raced at the terrifying hum of the boosters and spiraling chem trail, and erupted into cheers. The excitement in the air was contagious, practically crackling in the air. And fleetingly, it infected Fox, too.

He forgot all about his nervous reservations, and for a few precious seconds, he was just another ecstatic kid on the shuttle…staring out the window, aching to take to the skies like everyone else.

* * *

After only having just touched down on the courtyard landing platform, the dying whine of the M-Gear Training Ships' engines were immediately followed up by the loud hiss of the canopies flying open.

A Doberman pilot that was built quite thick for a teenager, yanked his helmet off and yelled hoarsely at one of the other cockpits. "You mind tellin' me when you're gonna break formation like that, Fritz? Just a second off, and that parlor trick of yours would've sent us into a mid-air collision!"

Leg dangling off the side of his ship, the other pilot, a Retriever, plucked his helmet off and let the cool air cleanse his damp forehead. For being the least athletically built of the bunch, he reaped the rewards of excellent genes: carelessly handsome eyebrows, playful brown eyes, and a smooth, sun-kissed coat that was only half as radiant as his smile.

"Would've, could've, didn't. Don't tell me that you actually got rattled by a few stunts."

Venomian Attendants with grubby jumpsuits scampered over to wash down the hulls or help each pilot down, one of which had their hand slapped away by the Doberman as he leapt off his canopy without help. "I ain't rattled by nothin', I could just use a little _warning_ next time. You feel me? It's not like I don't know you're just showing off to the new kids."

"Ugh, for God's sake, don't be such a wet blanket all the time, Theo…you'll lose your sense of fun. It's not like you have anything else going for you…" Fritz hopped down from his ship, chucking his sweaty helmet and jacket to one of the monkeys. "Besides, think about how nervous the new kids probably are; no better way to show them what they can shoot for with enough hard training, right?" He smiled. "Or who they can aspire to be like."

Theo just snorted and started walking back, knowing better than to contest his friend's massive ego. "Whatever. Stay and 'inspire' them if you want, _I'm_ headin' inside. Don't need to be here when Orientation starts…" His snout curled in the direction of the sky dome. "Newbie recruits will be crawling everywhere, soon…I can practically smell the green off 'em from here."

"Bitter as ever, I see," said Fritz, with a laugh. "Come on, even you have to admit that they'd be a nice change from the same old faces around here."

"Yeah, the same way a trip out the airlock would be a nice change from all that boring old oxygen. Seriously, what's to look forward to? Shower lines being longer, classroom's being more packed, Flight Training being swarmed by a bunch of wet-nosed, first-year cadets—"

"Hey, for all you know, one of those wet-nosed cadets might be the one that finally gives you a real challenge. Maybe even compete with you in the sim."

"Competition? From a _rookie_ pilot?" He scoffed. "That'll be the fuckin' day."

The Retriever loosened his flight suit's collar as he walked, and gave a casual glance skyward.

"Don't count them out just yet, Theo. You never know who might step off one of those shuttles."

* * *

Before any of the transports could land, the shielded entrance reserved for Security Craft opened to allow a smaller, dingier ship to fly in. Underneath its rusty hull and faded paint, its metallic legs extended and allowed the ship to touch down on the landing pad stationed just outside the Academy Gates.

Wolf popped his head out, squinting his purple eyes at the surge of sunlight.

Walking out to the vast school grounds was like emerging as a Cave-Dweller all over again; everything was so spacious and elegant, a complete contrast to the confined drudgery of Juvie Hall. The school gate was wide open, and he could see pockets of the other students—chipper, clad in uniforms and all of them so different from the roguish types he'd grown accustomed to.

He was still drinking in his surroundings when he felt impatient prod of the Security Escort behind him.

Trudging off the shuttle ramp, Wolf moved quickly out the shuttle's rear door, away from any prying eyes, wincing at the tight hold of the handcuffs he was trying to hide under his uniform. The rough plop of his duffel bag followed him, along with the clunking boots of the hulking Mastiff acting as his Escort. He held up his cuffs expectantly, eyes absentmindedly drifting across the wider campus. He seized his bag the second his hands were free.

The Escort's voice stopped him sharply. "Ut-ut. Tracer Anklet?"

Wolf grimaced and yanked his trouser leg up, exposing the blinking device strapped above his boot. The Escort aimed a shrewd glance at it, seemingly unconvinced.

"Is that all?" Wolf finally asked.

"Hold it. You're not going anywhere till I check you for contraband.

Wolf groaned. "Are you kidding me? I already went through a security check back at the Facility!"

"Then you won't mind a second one." He prodded him with his unignited stun baton. "Turn and spread your arms wide, with legs apart. Now."

 _Of course. Nothing can_ ever _be easy, can it?_ Refraining from his usual scowl, Wolf just turned and complied. Being used to this procedure from over a year in captivity didn't make it any less irritating or degrading. He felt the larger hands pat suspiciously on his crisp new Cadet's jacket and padded trousers, followed by a pause and an unconvinced growl behind him, as the Officer's hands rummaged harder.

Wolf sighed impatiently. "You gonna sniff me, too, or what?"

Suddenly, the Escort's fingers uncovered a paper carton. "Well, what do we have here? Cigarettes?"

"HEY!" Wolf whirled around and grabbed one end of the carton before the man could pull it out of reach, the two of them grappling for it. "Keep your hands off of that, those are mine!"

The Escort tightened his massive grip where Wolf's fingers held the packet. "You better let go, boy. Interfering with confiscation's a good way to get punished."

Wolf didn't relent his grip. He knew full well that this had nothing to do with protocol, and more to do with him throwing his weight around. "They aren't yours to confiscate. I'm allowed to have these."

"I didn't ask." Foul canine breath filled his nostrils as the Mastiff Escort took advantage of their isolated cover behind the shuttle to tower over Wolf threateningly. "Better watch how you decide to push me, boy. We're not at the Facility anymore, and there's no one here to write me up if I decide to teach you a lesson."

Scowling, Wolf straightened to meet his height. Guards just like this one had littered the Facility, abusing their rank to stoke their God Complex. "Is that supposed to scare me?"

"It will if you're smart." He began crushing the carton, and Wolf's fingers along with it. "Now, instead of pushing your luck, tell me what's in these. Come on, spit it out."

"…It's Cornsilk," Wolf said unflinchingly. "To help me quit. Nothing illegal."

The unlit stun baton prodded him sharply in the ribs. "Don't give me that crap. There's something more valuable in these…I know you juvie types. You expect me to believe you went through the trouble to smuggle garden herbs into school?" The man glowered at him. "Do I look stupid to you?"

"D'you really want me to answer that question?"

THUD!

The impulse spurred his tongue to say it before he could stop himself, only to regret it the second the guard pushed him against the hull of the shuttlecraft, raising his baton above Wolf's ears.

" _You fat-mouthed little whelp!_ I'll teach you to—"

"Officer! Take your hands off of him this instant!"

The commanding voice caused both of them to turn.

A petite Fichinese girl, with cream-colored fur and looking to be just nearing twenty, turned up just behind them. She marched over wearing a very practical frock coat that that shielded her fur from the artificial breeze, with neat gloves and a very strict expression. The Mastiff didn't recognize the girl, but Wolf recognized her immediately, perplexed to see her out here of all places.

The Escort tapped his cap in her direction. "Beggin' your pardon, little lady, but you'd best not interfere here. This is a Security Matter—"

The Rabbit didn't budge. "How about you take your hands off of my foster brother, before I get someone to cuff them for you?"

That made him freeze. "Wait. Did you say…?"

"I'm Lucy Hare. My father is Peppy Hare, of the Star Fox Team…you're acquainted with him, yes?" Her voice snapped at a mile per minute. "He comes by your facility often enough."

The dog's face flushed, as he began stammering. "O-Oh. M'Sorry, miss…I mean, ma'am, I mean—" He cleared his throat, relaxing his grip on Wolf. "I was just checking to make sure the convict here wasn't smugglin' anything suspicious…"

Lucy picked up the fallen carton of cigarettes. "By 'suspicious', do you mean these? I'm not about to defend my foster brother's habits, but I'm pretty sure nicotine-free herbs aren't against school rules."

"Well, you know these juvie types, ma'am…they smuggle all kinds of stuff under the disguise of cigarettes," the Escort explained. "It could be Zonetian Ice, or Offworld Opiates. It doesn't hurt to be careful—"

Lucy's lilac eyes flashed beneath her cropped bangs. "Officer, we med students at Planetary General are trained to recognize the symptoms of substances. If my brother was on them, do you really think there's the slightest chance that I wouldn't be able to spot any?" She strode up to them, her ears barely coming up to the man's bicep. "And even if he _was_ smuggling something, it would be for the school to deal with, not for you to bludgeon him to a pulp. You'll be lucky if I don't report this."

"B-But—" The Escort stammered.

The girl raised a silencing finger. "Now, then: I'm sure you have more pressing duties to attend to. If you'd like me to forget what I've seen, I would suggest returning to them." Her expression steeled warningly. " _Good_ _day,_ Officer."

There was a moment of struggle in the dog's face, clearly not used to being ordered about by someone two feet shorter than him. Disgruntledly, he released Wolf, who made a rude gesture to him on his re-entry back into the shuttle. The craft rumbled back to life and rose, draping ground in a plume of smoke as it left.

Wolf turned through the dust to see Lucy facing him, arms folded. Just the sight of her frosty glare was enough to make him grimace, knowing the verbal shredding that was incoming.

"I see that you still haven't learned not to butt in where you aren't needed," he muttered.

"And I see that you're still getting along with people like a disinfectant. Maybe wait more than five minutes before encouraging confrontations with everyone around you, hmm?"

"What're you doing here?" asked Wolf. "I thought Peppy was seeing me off."

"Time's working against him this morning. Mounting duties back on the Planetary Academy, and all that. I was making a stop here on the way to the Fichinese Science Institute, so he asked me to see you off instead. I'm not thrilled about it anymore than you are, but please make do." Her snout crinkled at the carton of cigarettes in her hand and tossed them to him. "Here. Better go through them quickly…just in case the next 'friend' you make does the smart thing and actually kills you."

He pocketed them venomously. "You could've just done nothing and let him beat me."

For once, Lucy nodded in agreement. "I absolutely could have, and with good cause. You could do with someone squeezing that head and ego down to size. I've been trying the latter for seven years, and heaven knows _I_ haven't had any luck."

Wolf glowered at her. _Still the same as ever,_ he thought. She'd been this way throughout their entire time growing up together. Where Peppy was somewhat lenient towards Wolf's cavedweller manners and reluctance to follow house-rules, Lucy was not. Even as a little girl, she would assert herself as a firm authority to Wolf. In her mind, she could never be too harsh or overstep her boundaries when dealing with someone so unruly, which occasionally made her tone-deaf to sensitive situations. As a result, whatever begrudging respect Wolf had for her was constantly being strained by irritation…not mostly because due to Wolf himself reaching that stage of adolescence where he was reluctant to admit being wrong, and Lucy reaching adulthood and being "too mature" to _ever_ be wrong. Or at least admit to it.

She took his duffel bag, weighing it suspiciously. "This seems lighter than it should be. Did you pack everything that I told you?" Not waiting for an answer, she zipped it open, rummaging through. "Let's see…spare uniforms, soap, clean underwear…"

Wolf's ears singed, and he grabbed at the duffel. "Could you, like, maybe not do that here? And in a voice that doesn't alert ten other people?"

"Hmm? Oh, right. Wouldn't want that fragile teenaged reputation getting soiled on the first day." She recoiled slightly to her surroundings. "Ugh. Adolescents everywhere you look, and not one brain among them. Thank God I'll never have to study here."

He shrugged. "I'm honestly surprised you've never thought about it." He smiled cheekily. "Not afraid I'll surpass those bookworm skills of your, are you?"

Lucy looked at him flatly. "I'd expect Aquas to dry up first. No, I'll stick to my medicine and astrophysics, thank you. None of this flying business for me—I think I'll be the first of our family to keep their feet on the ground…and out of combat." Her long ears straightened attentively. "Speaking of which, I also packed the first-aid kit, and a pack of sutures. Just in case you get into another scrap."

Wolf stiffened. "No need…things are going to be different here."

Lucy raised an eyebrow skeptically. "I think you and I both know that your quarrelsome impulses won't allow for that kind of restraint."

Her words stung more than she probably intended. What was more of their usual banter for her sent a nettle of discomfort under Wolf's skin, reaching all the way to his face.

"Thanks," he muttered bitterly, looking away from her.

Lucy caught his sullen insecurity out of the corner of her eye, looking taken aback. "Oh, God…you're actually nervous, aren't you? That's not like you at all." She studied him keenly. "No, not just nervous…afraid."

Wolf lowered his voice to angry hiss. "Of course I am…why _wouldn't_ I be?" He glanced around, breath staggering. "So much can go wrong today…"

"Flight training was always going to be hard. No one expects you to be an ace on your first day."

"It's not the training I'm worried about…it's all this." He gestured at the gossiping bushels of students dotting the grounds. "Trying to blend in with _them._ I'm not going to have another chance at this place if something happens…if I slip up and something like yesterday happens…"

That was when Lucy realized the anxiety-ridden dent she'd made, by saying what she'd said. "Wolf, nothing can happen that you don't let happen, be it a fight or anything else."

Wolf paled. "These days, I'm not so sure, Luce. Back at the juvie center yesterday, I was so angry…my hands were around the other kid before I even realized it was happening. Sometimes, it's so quick that I don't even feel it." He began to look sickly, fringing on panic. "The last time that happened—"

Lucy let a rare glimmer of sympathy emerge. "Stop it, Wolf. What happened with Glenn won't happen again. You're older now, more in control."

"But what if I'm not?" His eyes swarmed with panic, the threat of hyperventilation tugging on his breath. "What if I do something stupid, or another kid does, and it starts again—?"

"I won't tolerate this kind of talk from you," The Rabbit cut in. "Not today of all days. You've talked mine and everyone else's ear off about how badly you want become a pilot…and now when you're finally here, you're going to seize up like roadkill in front of the school gates, because you're too afraid of _yourself?"_ She lowered her voice. "Look at all these other kids. Most of them are first-timers to this place, too. They don't know a thing about you, or about each other. To them, you're just another random student, right?"

Wolf tentatively agreed. "Right…"

Lucy turned his face back to look at her. "Then take _advantage_ of that. Turn a new leaf, assume a different role for a while. Normally, I wouldn't encourage deceiving people, but throwing a curtain over your jailbird days…" She cast a wary glance at the leg of his trousers hiding his tracking anklet. "…could buy you some anonymity. Just to get by, you know? No one would have a reason to push you around, and you wouldn't need to push back."

As Wolf looked around with her, his eyes sparked with gradual enamorment. "That…could actually work."

"Just keep a low profile. Everything will be fine if you do that." She gave him a look of genuine caring. " _You'll_ be fine. Okay?"

Letting his breathing stabilize, Wolf settled on an uncertain: "…Yeah. Okay."

He was given a satisfied nod from the young Rabbit, who returned to searching his bag. "Good. Make sure to shake off all that jitter and hesitation before you clear those gates. Papa and I didn't break our backs raising a quitter."

Briefly, Wolf found himself nudged out of his discomfort by a smile. Not just from the comfort of her words, but also because of their being something amusing about Lucy still using the word "Papa" at her age, in spite of all efforts to appear refined and mature.

She caught his look. "What are you sniggering at?"

Wolf wiped it from his face. "Nothing."

Lucy glowered at him. "For goodness' sake, act your age!" Then, her ears twitched at the sound of ship engines blaring in the distance behind her. "That'll be the freshman shuttles. The other students will be pouring out any second." She zipped his bag and handed it over.

"Then I guess this is it." He faced her expectantly.

Her expression and whiskers flattened. "Yes, it is."

They both stood there, the space between them strained by awkward silence. Not knowing what else to do, Wolf stretched out his hand in a formal fashion.

"So, I'll see you around."

For a second, looked like Lucy was going to shake it, and then her hands sprang over it to fuss over his jacket, smoothening the creases and straightening his collar.

"Now, stay on top of things while you're here. And _try_ to keep that rebellious streak of yours in check, and don't even try to argue with the teachers—"

Wolf tried to wriggle away. "Ugh, _lay off,_ will you? For Christ's sake…"

She ignored him. "Keep to your studies and stay healthy. I've packed an oatmeal recipe for you—the good kind, with apple and cinnamon—just give that to the cafeteria chef if you're ever feeling sick—" Her hands fished out a headset and a small device, voice frosting over. "What's this? A FREAK mixer?"

Wolf was already wincing at what was coming. "Oh, God..."

"Didn't I already tell you not to bring this?" Lucy demanded.

"Come on, I'm not entitled to a little music from time to time?"

She yanked it away. "We're sending you here to study, not to frolic around. Besides, there's enough suffering in this galaxy without you spreading your taste in music to other people."

"I'm not going to be studying all the time." He paused. "And what's wrong with my taste in music?"

"The _point_ is, there should be no distractions for you. Not music, not lazing about, or any other teenage nonsense—I won't be having you flunk out in your first year at the Academy. How do you think it'd reflect on me, when _I'm_ the one who taught you how to read?" She sighed exhaustedly. "And don't be expecting any special help from James or Pigma or whoever. Once you walk through that gate, they won't pretend to know you…or bail you out if you do something stupid," she added, on a brittle note.

Wolf clamped his jaw, turning from her. "Great. Are you done, or is there something else?"

Lucy glared at him for a minute, before relaxing her shoulders. "...Yes. There's one more thing." She tiptoed up to meet his towering height, and lightly kissed him on the forehead. "Be careful."

"C'mon, I'm older now…I can look after myself," said Wolf.

The Rabbit shook her head. "You're still that impulsive little cave brat that Papa found and saddled us with. You've just grown taller. And I won't be here to get you out of trouble like when we were k-kids…"

Her lilac eyes began shining, and Wolf almost thought they were tears. But Lucy cleared her throat, turning around and waving a hand near her face right as her voice was breaking.

"Ugh, I can't s-stand the synthetic air in this p-place," She squeaked. "G-Get going. And d-don't lose anything I packed for you."

The sound of her voice disarmed Wolf completely and made his biting sense of annoyance melt away. Hesitantly, he walked over and did something he and Lucy hadn't done since they were small. He stopped by the shoulder and pulled her into a hug. He felt her sniffling into his shoulder.

"You take care too, Luce. I'll miss arguing with you."

She dropped all composure to allow herself to smile, and to let tears fall to her chin.

"And I'll miss always winning."

* * *

The absolute chaos of everyone trying to get off at the same time almost cost Fox his tail.

There was no orderliness once the transport doors opened; elbows, hands, ribs and knees collided as everyone shoved their way through the tightly-knit, shoulder-to-shoulder mass of students pouring out, barely acknowledging each other outside of an unsympathetic grunt. One aimless boot almost came down on Fox's bushy plume, before he instinctively tucked it in. He scooped his tail around and clung to it gingerly as he was forced to move with the herd of students, before stumbling off the ramp and into the simulated noonday sun.

Fox hadn't been around other teenagers for very long, but so far, he didn't like them. He and the others barely had enough time to catch their breath and savor the open space, when they were greeted by a squad of older students. A ponce-looking Shiba Inu with brass shoulder bands walked the front.

"Eyes and ears over here, freshmen!" He ordered in a very poncy voice. "If you just got off the shuttle, then leave your bags where they are and start forming a nice, orderly line. Hurry up now, we haven't got all day—and have your PS-8007 Passports out. You're not setting a foot on the school lawn till you've been numbered!"

"Numbered?" A Parakeet Student asked. "What's that mean?"

The older students didn't waste time explaining, merely inspecting the students and retrieving the small, square clearance disks that Lylatian citizens used as interstellar passports from each of them, before jamming them into bulky grey handheld devices. Encrypted code flashed on their monochrome screens, prompting the older students to clamp a huge stamp-like device onto the jacket sleeves of all each confused new arrival.

The devices buzzed and hissed on their sleeves before being pried off, leaving a freshly stitched patch of the Flight Academy's gold winged crest, emblazoned with some kind of number.

"ID Matches are in order. You're Cadet 550 as of today."

"Alright, let's see here…you're Cadet 14. Move on, and no shoving—"

"—There you go, Cadet 102...hey, that was _my_ number when I first arrived. Resume your place in the line."

Realization dawned on Fox, as he remembered his father saying something about pilots being numbers, not people, for the duration of their training. But he had no idea it would be implemented so literally, and the very second that they arrived, no less. Was it to get them used to call signs in air combat, or something?

A feverish yearning thought struck him. _Could I actually make it all four years without anyone knowing my name? Oh, PLEASE let that be true…_

Fox waited until he reached the front himself, where he handed in his Passport, waiting until the older student dismissively christened him "Cadet 93". Once everyone had been numbered and sorted, the Shiba addressed all of them.

"Now, then. You're gonna be escorted on the Academy Grounds by Hall Officers till we trust you to get around, so form a crowd without stepping on each other and only move when we tell you." His eyelids lowered impatiently. "And _please,_ no wandering off…no one wants to start the year off with infractions."

His impatient pace forced them to shuffle quickly to keep up, and they followed him through the glinting gates marking the entrance to the Academy Grounds.

What awaited them was a tantalizing sight:

There wasn't a word to describe how unearthly real it all looked. Sprawling before them, the grounds were a grid of trimmed hornbeam hedges and stone-cut pathways that sprawled into a lush formal garden, all a pitch-perfect recreation of the outdoor School Grounds found on-world. It was so easy to take in the smell of grass, or the stoic oak trees lining the pavilion entrance, or the morning sun streaming through their leaves and painting the ground with dappled sunlight…and feel like all of this was on the ground, and not encased in a sky dome. The white marble Academy buildings seated beyond the garden foyer didn't look very naval or authoritarian, sporting instead a welcoming angular look, harmonized with an art deco flare that was reminiscent of Cornerian skyscrapers. Some aspects of it seemed older, like the massive, cathedral-like glass dome that flashed in the sunlight. Sprouting above it was a magnificent pair of brise soleil wings, made up rows of steel fins strung together on steel wire, looking like it was about to take flight from the roof. Somehow, the students littering the lawn were ignoring their lustrous surroundings, dozing off on the grass or with their noses buried in textbook pads. Just before the steps leading up to the Main Academy Foyer sat an elegant fountain with a jaw-dropping golden sculpture of a starship, tilted towards the sky between chortling plumes of water. Littered around it were holographic displays hovered in front of the stairway up to the main foyer, flashing "WELCOME NEW RECRUITS" in garish colors, blaring the uplifting anthem that the Cornerian Defense Force used in all their abrasive propaganda.

The new arrivals traveled in a whispering group, soaking in the architecture and ships flying overhead, until something else entered their field of view and brought them to a stop.

They all craned their necks up to take in the staple ornament of the Academy grounds—an ensemble of four colossal statues that towered over the surrounding grounds and school buildings. Chiseled from marble that flashed blindingly-white in the sun, they depicted four people: pilots from across the long annals of galactic history, the sole four whose talents and feats of leadership had earned both them and their squadrons the title of "Star"—the ultimate stamp of recognition for prowess of the skies. They stood side by side, each a visual snapshot of the era in which they had fought.  
…Ziio, Leader of Star Hawk, the chronological first of the statues, sporting a wild plume of feathers and a defiant scowl on his beak, along with the most primitive garb of the Four: the archaic beads and flamboyant cloak draped over his shoulders characteristic of the pilots who had fought in the Interstellar Conflict eons ago, at the dawn of civilization…  
…Selma Murciélago, Leader of Star Bat, wearing a jumbled mess of scavenged armor from her space pirate exploits in wild space, a hand on her hip and the other brushing away her long bangs to flash an eternally-cheeky smile... …Charlize Halloway of Star Coyote, the only canine of the Four, a bronze helmet from Corneria's Steam Age tucked under one arm and a beautiful face housing a soft, sullen look that gazed ever onward to the horizon…  
…And James McCloud of Star Fox, wearing his distinctly modern pilot's jacket and a daring smile from the days before his rugged and grey features had settled in. The bold, heroic effigy caused James mostly embarrassment as an Instructor, and allegedly was something he still didn't approve of to this day.

All of the newly-arrived children gawked up at the figures they knew from urban stories and dramatized holovid movies. The Four Galactic Champions were revered almost religiously in popular myth as the unsurpassable titans of Lylat's long history of flight. The world had never borne witness to a greater set of pilots and would likely never see any as great again.

But much to everyone's disappointment, the Student Officers wouldn't let them drink in for more than a few seconds. "All of you gather in front of the Academy steps! Quickly, now! One of our Senior Flight Advisors has some choice words for all you rookie cadets!"

"Senior Flight Advisors?" whispered one of the new cadets. "Wait a sec…is one of the Star Fox pilots gonna welcome us in?"

The Shiba's impatient bark eliminated any further gossip. "Hurry up, we're losing time! Pick up the pace and form up!"

* * *

"You want _me_ to give the orientation speech? Have you lost your goddamn mind?!"

"Shhhh! _Language,_ Pigma—the kids are gonna hear you!"

The school's Chief Mechanic, an exceptionally plump racoon dog named Yarufumi de Pon, walked alongside Pigma and tried to keep his whiskey-addled voice from making the students in the hallway jump. A lack of coffee and being forced to be up this early had already put Pigma in a rancid mood, now compounded by more bad news.

"Listen, get back on the comm. with James, and whatever's holding him up, tell him to cancel it. He's the one who gives the speech to the new kids every year, _not me."_

Yaru waddled beside him frantically. "He's in a meeting with Cornerian High Command down at the capital! That's not something to 'cancel', and you know it."

Pigma groaned. Even when he wasn't on a mission, it seemed like the Cornerian government was finding new ways to make his life harder.

"Look, he's running late and isn't going to make it back in time," said Yaru. "Nothin' we can do about that. He isn't here, and Peppy's back on the planetary campus. That leaves _you._ " His ears folded pleadingly.

Pigma scowled. "When I said I'd chip in around here, I didn't mean this. Yellin' at these kids during Flight Training, I can do…maybe even go a whole day without swearing at them. That's reasonable. But you tellin' me to go out there and play Den Mother for a bunch of them is where I draw the line."

"No one's asking you to tuck them in. C'mon, these new cadets are nervous…a few words of encouragement from the Star Fox Team will probably mean the world to them, no matter which Member they get it from."

"They'll probably appreciate it more from the Member that won't scare them." He half-earnestly looked to the side. "Can't…you just go out there for me, or something?"

He immediately regretted it, watching as the Racoon Dog's eyes bulged in panic. "Wha— _Me?!_ I just fix starship engines, I don't know anything about public speaking! And I'm terrible with crowds—" He started wringing his green cap in his hands, shrinking timidly into the layers of fur around his neck. "Please don't make me go out there, Pigma."

"Cool your thrusters…I wasn't being serious." Pigma peered through the glass of the autodoors out into the sunlit grounds, where the students were gathered in front of the golden fountain. Somewhere in his jaded scowl, there was a warm twinge of nostalgia. _Phew…look how freakin' young they are. Can't believe that used to be me n' Peppy out on that lawn. Cripes, that was ages ago…_ He sighed reluctantly. "...Those two Wingmates of mine better be grateful for this."

Yaru's shoulders collapsed in relief. "So, you'll do it?"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." The Hog growled punched the door switch, squinting at the stream of morning light. "Just don't expect anything fancy. If I was the smooth talker of the Team, it would be _me_ buttering up those suits at High Command, not James."

"No one's expecting you to talk like General Pepper out there." He splayed his hands encouragingly. "They're only kids. Just…be honest with them, y'know? They'll probably appreciate that."

The slightest smirk played on Pigma's lip as he walked out. Clearly, the Racoon Dog didn't know him well enough.  
"Honest…right."

* * *

After receiving his cadet number and pestered to some secluded spot where he had to prove _yet again_ that his tracking anklet was still attached to him, Wolf began maneuvering the crowd.

He would glance up at the collage of faces passing him by, and feel his stomach tighten. The same youthful, unassuming faces were everywhere in sight, some bored-looking, some carefree, some tired, some chattering excitedly...

 _Just take it easy...relax. Nobody knows you here, or where you're from...nothing._ He exhaled. _Just be nice if someone talks to you, blend in...everything will be fine…_

Gradually, he noticed how everyone would tilt their gazes up as he walked past, which made his fur prickle self-consciously as he began noticing how gargantuanly-tall he was in this new crowd. It wasn't such a big deal back at the juvie facility, but here he probably stuck out like an overgrown weed among them. He hurriedly lowered his head, when his sloping gaze noticed the grass around his feet being swallowed by the shadow of something taller towering over him.

He looked up to find the marble statue of James smiling overhead. Other new students coming off the transport were drawn to it almost magnetically, faces lighting up in excitement. Wolf, however, didn't share their enthusiasm. Not when the mere sight of him was enough to revive memories of their last interaction.

_Hmph. Look at the way they all gawk at him. Wonder how much they'd worship him if they knew what he was really like._

Wolf felt the burning resentment singeing his face, before it subsided. The fact that he almost exclusively associated James with disgust said a lot about the impact he'd left…but the speed in which Wolf dismissed him said a lot about himself, too.

_Maybe I'm being too hard on him. Peppy said nothing would change between us if we both keep going at it with each other..._

Determined, Wolf straightened up. He needed to at least _try_ to repair things, even if he was the only one making the effort. _I'll make things right between the two of us. I've changed a lot since I last saw him…_

_Maybe he has, too…_

"ALRIGHT, EYES FRONT AND CHINS UP!"

The ear-puncturing sound of the familiar voice tore across the lawn from the main Academy foyer, startling all of the new students and sending them into a scramble to form an assembly line of rigid postures.

Pigma marched down the foyer steps, surrounded by Hall Officers and Upperclass Pilots locked in stiff salutes. Recognition swarmed the new arrivals, but they were too intimidated to break into whispering again.

The Hog scowled under the blaze of the artificial sun, observing the crowd of fresh-faced students. Without clearing his throat, he resumed shouting.

"Right then! Freshman Cadet Class of '89! My name is Pigma Dengar, ex-Lieutenant of the CDF's Paratroopers' Division, ex-Havoc of the 9th Starborne Winged Raiders, and present Wingman of the Star Fox Team." He clamped his hands behind him. "But my years of service are long behind me, and you wet-nosed little brats haven't earned a modicum of respect to call me anything other than 'sir'. So, tell me, newbies…what am I?"

The long reach of his savage voice made every Cadet blurt it out. "SIR!"

Amidst the line of shrinking shoulders, Wolf suppressed a grin. _That's Pigma alright…_

The Hog grunted in approval. "You learn quick…and you better keep it up, 'cause I and the rest of Academy Faculty plan on making these the hardest, bone-breaking four years of your flowery teenaged lives. The Cornerian government was mighty gracious to supply us with our largest influx of students yet, because that means I get to double my efforts in squeezing every last ounce of misery outta you."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the steady spread of stunned and worried across the crowd and stopped.

"I can see you're all shocked. 'How can he talk like that? He's supposed to be a Member of Star Fox!' Well, while I'm up here, I might as well dispel a few fantasies some of you may be entertaining. See, some of you might've gotten giddy at the prospect of training under us because we're the Star Fox Team." His beady eyes darted to the ensemble of statues. "Hell, I bet half of you spent a good minute star-struck in front of James over there."

Wolf instantly made a face. _Not all of us._

"Let me be the first of the Team to tell you…this ain't a celebrity meet up. And the higher-ups at Cornerian High Command didn't hire us to do meet-n'-greets or hand out autographs, they put us here to mold you into aces, top filers. To make you excel on every front." He jabbed a gloved finger at them. "To do that, we're gonna push you in ways your parents n' parole officers were too weak to do. We'll bend you till your bones break, stew your frustration to a boilin' point, fill you with a resentment that could kill. Believe me when I say that we ain't gonna be your childhood heroes for long. In fact, by the time your training's finished, you'll probably hate us."

A deathly silence gripped the crowd. In mere seconds, Pigma had managed to make the sterling white Academy buildings and lush grass suddenly lose their luster. Nervous gulps emerged from the stiff line of new recruits.

"Now, I understand some of you—no, _most_ of you, will object to the way the staff and I get the best performance out of you. Well, lemme tell you something: the only lenience we offer is the freedom to walk out the second you can't cope with what's asked of you. Plenty can't. You wanna join 'em? There's the gate."

Everyone in the crowd kept their faces lowered, and didn't move. Pigma studied them briefly, before continuing.

"The second you walked through that gate, you forfeited the luxury of complaining. You aren't facing anything generations of pilots before you didn't have to face themselves: every one of them started out where you are now, with only two things in hand: an equal chance to excel, and a cadet number."

The crowd collectively jerked back as he turned briskly to face them.

"That's all you are within these walls—a number. That's where your identity starts and ends, as it did with me. When I was standing where you stand now, I was just Cadet 078. No 'son of Caleb Dengar', no farmer's son from Dorisa XII, none of that...just Cadet 78. But in just a few short years, I wasn't 'Cadet 78' anymore...I was Pigma Dengar, Ace Pilot of the CDF's 144th Space Borne Battalion!" Everyone's eyes were locked on him as he elevated himself up the first few marble steps of the school, his voice ringing across the lawn. "Today you're all numbers. But you'll all have the chance to reforge your names...to reforge yourselves! To grow to your fullest potentials, and achieve the same glory as those pilots immortalized over there…" His finger went to the statues. "…or maybe even higher. We'll give you the wings to do it…but _you_ have to reach those heights yourself!"

The nervous looks began to falter and evaporate. The warmth and enthusiasm returned to the air, and even Wolf couldn't suppress an emboldened smile at the Senior Pilot's words. Pigma gave them all a tight-lipped, approving nod.

"And you _will,_ Cadets." He jerked a thumb behind him. "Now get goin' and make somethin' of yourselves!"

The students, embued with far more enthusiasm in their bellies, tightened formation and threw up a collective wave of salutes, letting out a determined roar: _**"SIR, YES, SIR!"**_

* * *

However pristine and stoic the Academy might have appeared on the outside, its interior told a very different story. While the halls housed the same marble columns and splendid furnishings, the air of elegance was rudely interrupted by one major thing.

And that was the students themselves.

The stiff naval dress was just about the only thing formal or organized about the wash of teenagers lounging in the hallway. It seemed like they had worked exhaustively to exploit the Academy Dress Code any way they could without violating it: Provocative furstyles ran the gambit from unkept mullets to high-volume perms. Jewelry and studded wristbands poked out from under rolled-up sleeves. Lips, beaks and ears saw all manner of piercings. Some students talked idly while waiting for classes to resume, while others whispered behind the seclusion of an open locker. And of course, as was trendy with most teenagers these days, more than a few of them were using the curtain of their open lockers to have a quick cigarette, funneling fumes into the metal cubicles.

None of their bored faces shared the same enthusiasm infecting the newly arrived students outside. Most of them had that jaded, unimpressed disposition that only adolescence was capable of producing.

Just as they were walking by, the sound of a loud male voice cutting above the surrounding gossip, turning multiple heads. A Dalmatian Hall Officer was arguing with a pair of new cadets, his voice getting louder and his patience disintegrating.

"For the _final_ time," he said, pointing at his module. "You and your friend can't receive your numbers if you aren't listed.

The cadet he was talking to, an inky feline girl, pressed him pleadingly. "That _can't_ be right. We should be in the registry...are you sure you entered us correctly? Cadets 121 and 124, from Lorraine's Group Home For Children…" She fished out a crinkled paper. "I have a note from the Orphanage, we—"

He pushed her off. "It doesn't matter _what_ you have. Those Cadet numbers are nowhere to be found, so you can't set foot in here."

The tall Avian accompanying her, voice spiking aggressively. "Look, there must be a glitch in the system, or something! We didn't come all this way to get turned down before we set foot in a damn classroom!"

"If you're not in the system, you're not in the system," The Dalmatian said. "You're lucky you made it past the front gate. I'll need to escort you both to Security."

"No, _please_ —it has to be a mistake! There must be someone else who can—" The feline frantically started searching the hall around her for help, and her eyes found someone in a high-ranking uniform walking by. "Excuse me, sir, something's gone wrong our placement in the registry. I have no idea what—o-oh. Sorry, I didn't mean to…"

Her meek voice retreated immediately, having failed to realize that she had addressed Pigma as he'd been casually walking by. She stammered and fell into intimidated silence, but the Ace Pilot simply raised a curious eyebrow at the Dalmatian behind them.

"Everything alright here, Frank?"

The Hall Officer straightened alertly. "Just dealing with a minor security issue, Commander, nothing I can't handle."

"Please, Mr. Dengar…er, I mean, Commander," Seeing her chance, the girl approached him desperately. "We're supposed to be in the registry, under Monroe, and Lombardi—I mean, Cadets 121 and 124—" She was stepping over herself in a constant fluster, sounding like her whole day had been one frantic ordeal of mishaps and misunderstandings. "But for some reason, we aren't entered in, I-I have no idea how. I… _we…_ " She took her companion's hand for emphasis. "…came from the Lorraine Group Home in Downtown Corneria City. We're here on the Impoverished Recruitment Program, but for some reason—"

The Hall Officer cut in. "I've tried telling them that it would be a reckless breach of school safety to let unnumbered students walk about as they please. I was about to let Security handle them, but they're refusing to comply… quite loudly and disruptively, I might add." He aimed a warning look at the girl.

Consulting the monochrome screen, Pigma tapped his multiple chins. "Hmm...it's true, seems neither of you are on the list. It's possible the registry's acting finnicky again with updating the student list. Happens sometimes when an influx of students come in on short notice."

Color returned to the girl's face. "Could you please double-check? If you only _knew_ the hassle it was just to get here. Doing all the necessary paperwork, begging the Group Home to let us shuttle here by ourselves… _please,_ sir, if we can't—"

Her tall Avian friend impatiently held her back. "Stop pestering him, will ya, Katt?" He looked up with an apologetic weariness. "Look, sir, you're probably busy…we'll just wait outside until you can get to us."

Whether it was the lack of coffee, or the sheer desperation in their faces, Pigma uncharacteristically felt the urge to help them. "It's no trouble at all. Frank, why don't you leave these two to me? Security's my division anyway…I can double check to see if they're on the main computer."

"It's your call, sir."

"Hmm." He beckoned the two. "C'mon, kids...my office is this way."

As the worried pair followed him, the Dalmatian yelled at a pair of osprey students running in the halls. All of the student bystanders who had hastily put out their cigarettes upon Pigma's arrival waited for him to leave, before opening their lockers and re-igniting new ones. Lost in boredom and smoke, they continued lounging as more students poured in from the outside.

At least, until Fritz and his entourage walked in from one of the bathrooms, the mere glint of his gold coat enough to get everyone to stop talking and straighten up. They began moving out of his path in the same attentive fashion as a crew would for the captain on a starship. From the sound of it, he seemed to be riding high on morning gossip, and in an unbelievably good mood that no one would dare disrupt.

"…I swear, I heard the same thing. Juvie Facilities, like _real_ ones. That's where some of these new kids are flying in from." He smiled with the same playful recoil of a boy discovering a particularly-disgusting insect in his yard. "Can you believe that? I guess orphanages and foster homes weren't 'rock-bottom' enough."

Theo's sharp black ears flicked as he looked around. "There's no way. You're telling me half of these dinky little freshmen are _cell rats?_ "

"That's the juicy rumor. Someone up top must be really desperate to be taking recruits from anywhere."

"Or they have a fucking screw loose," The Doberman grunted. "What makes them think a bunch of would-be felons make for good squadron material? Are they gonna start letting robots pilot starships next? _Simmies?"_ He and the others laughed.

"The real crime is if they only let in the male delinquents," Fritz pined. "Think of how much it would suck if we opened our gates to the dregs of society, only for no juvie girls to show up."

Theo raised an eyebrow. "You make it sound like there'd be some kind of loss there."

Folding his arms behind his head, Fritz smiled recklessly. "Why not? Just imagine that kind of girl walking these halls: the absolute picture of degeneracy, covered in tattoos, going through misdemeanors like you or I go through a pack of gum…even _you_ have to admit that would make for a good time."

His friend didn't share his enthusiasm. "Only if having the smell of trash rub off on you is your idea of fun. Besides, what happened to you and, uh—what's-her-name from Terrain Basics? I thought you two were a thing."

"Tsk, there's your problem, Theo." Fritz clicked his tongue, surveying the room. "You're thinking in the short-term. Sure, Daisy's a nice girl, and we've had some fun, but what if a more exciting option appears? If you only settle for what's in front of you, you'll never—"

His tirade was interrupted when a fox slightly shorter than him with his eyes glued to his schedule rammed clumsily into his shoulder, almost stumbling back himself.

"Whoa—sorry, sorry, I didn't see you—"

Shoulder ringing and uniform crinkled, Fritz let out an agitated exhale through gritted teeth.

The fox's apologetic look suddenly became one of timid relief. "Actually, I was hoping one of you fellas could tell me which way Room 401 is? I'm kinda lost, and—"

"Maybe if you saw where you were running, maybe you'd see that we're lacking a certain band on our uniforms? The one for Hall Officers?" Fritz seethed frostily, a glare fouling up his carefree composure.

The boy's look of relief melted. "O-Oh, I guess—I just thought—"

The monstrously-tall Doberman snatched him by the collar of his jacket. "He asked you a question, shrimp. Do we look like Hall Officers to you?" He curled his lip above his teeth. "Or does that head of yours only get any use when someone beats it in?"

His lime-green eyes widened in terror. "W-Wait, no! I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"

Fritz groaned and waved an irritable hand. "Hands off, Theo…it's too early in the day for a scrap. Just let one of the others handle it. Barney! Do something about this, will you?" He called over the Shiba Inu monitoring the other students. "You're supposed to be keeping a leash on all these new students, not letting them come up and talk to us."

The Hall Officer raced over, face flushed. "I'm doing my best, Fritz. These kids are swarming the halls, I can barely deal with all of them!"

"Just take care of it."

Before the Fox could say or do anything, the Junior Officer gave him a rough shove. "Alright, beat it, Cadet! Find someone else to bother, before I write you up and send you to class with an infraction. Move!

Confused, the meek student made a shuffling away in silent compliance, while the Shiba continued to apologize profusely.

"I'm really sorry about this Fritz. I swear, it won't happen again—"

Having already turned to walk off, Fritz rolled his eyes and let the sound of his groveling disappear behind him, with his friends following suit. He, Theo and the others resumed their stroll and their bored, idle chatter. He kept a non-committed role in the gossip, but for some reason, his thoughts were occupied by the look of fear on that younger boy's face. That nervous expression riddled with discomfort…plastered on a set of features that were oddly familiar. Almost reminiscent of…

He stopped mid-stroll when the realization hit him. By the time he had whirled around, the boy had already vanished into the gaggle of new students.

The static boredom in Fritz's eyes evaporated, becoming sharp and attentive as he let his gossiping friends disappear into the crowded hall without him. He'd seen that kid somewhere before…he _knew_ it. His first instinct was to look around to ensure no one had made the same discovery. Then he quickly pulled the Shiba Hall Officer back over.

"Barney, c'mere. That kid, just now…who was he?" He asked, voice lowered.

"Him?" The Shiba looked in the direction the fox had disappeared to. "Beats me. Just another nameless minnow rolling in on the new tide of students…they all look the same to me." He gave him an odd look. "Why?"

Fritz's eyes remained locked in the same direction, suddenly awash in a feverish, almost hungry look. "Find out who he is. _Now."_

"Now? He's probably in class by now, Fritz, I can't just march in and—

" _Make_ a way in. Go!"

Confused, the Shiba scampered off, leaving Fritz to stand there, completely shaken out of the morning mundanity that was lulling everyone off to class around him. His mind was still racing at the possibility of what he'd just seen…and even more excited by the prospect of him being the only to make the discovery.

He felt an eager smile emerging on his face.

 _I should be thanking you, James…_ He thought. _You've just made this new semester much, much more exciting…_


	5. A Passing Nobody

Chapter 5: A Passing Nobody

Sure enough, the two Cadets were in the registry. Their biographical data flashed in streams of green text on the black computer screen, and over the reflection of Pigma's doughy face.

"Yep, you guys are here, alright: Cadets 121 and 124...from the old Lorraine home." He swiveled his office chair around and nodded at the two kids sitting across from him. "Looks like it was just the system actin' screwy."

The Feline Girl, having spent the long silence looking borderline fatigued with anxiety, practically fainted back into her seat, chest expanding as she gulped air again.

" _Thank goodness,"_ she breathed. "I can't thank you enough, Commander. You don't know what a relief it is to have _one thing_ go right today."

"I can imagine." He glanced at both of them. "You guys seem like you've had it rough today."

The girl's eyebrows sank groggily. "It's been a nightmare since the morning started; the people at the orphanage basically did nothing to get us here. No shuttle fare, no escort, faulty expired passports…seems like booting us out the front door was the most effort they could put into getting rid of us..." She was halfway into her heavy sigh, when her ears sprang up. "Oh! I'm so sorry—there I go, bombarding you with all this—"

"Not at all. Sucks that you kids had to put up with all that." He gave them an agreeable nod. "Rest assured, you're gonna be treated far better around here. You'll certainly be a hefty addition to this year's Cadet Roster…this is quite the transcript for someone your age, Miss, ah…" He glanced at the screen. "…Katherine, was it?"

All of a sudden, the girl started giggling.

Pigma looked at her with a strange smile. "Something I missed?"

"Oh, no, it's just—I haven't had anyone call me 'Katherine' since I was little. It's kind of weird hearing it." She dipped her head bashfully. "I'd prefer Katt…if it's alright."

"'Katt', huh? It suits you," said Pigma. She watched him smile. Using their real names instead of relegating them to their Cadet Numbers seemed to be his way of appreciating how refreshingly polite she was for her age. He looked next to her. "And you're Falco, right?"

The Avian didn't even remotely have the same demure nicety of his companion. Slouching and tapping a restless boot above his knee, he seemed locked in a state of boredom, the corner of his mouth dangling as if built to accommodate for his permanently lopsided scowl. The sound of being addressed seem to irritate him more, like he was being shaken out of sleeping.

"…That's right," He said, glancing idly past the pilot.

Pigma raised an eyebrow at the almost quarrelsome spike in the boy's voice, and Katt quickly spoke up, planting her voice between them.

"You'll have to excuse Falco," She said, eyeing him crossly. "He's not very sociable…call it a side effect of constantly having to get acquainted with new people. Happens everywhere we go.

Pigma frowned. "'Everywhere'? How many homes have you had before the Lorraine place?"

"I honestly couldn't tell you, sir…I've lost count myself," she admitted. "We've been traded around _a lot,_ for as long as I can remember. Adopters wouldn't bite, beds would fill up, and before we knew it, we'd get transferred to another home." Her eyes fell slightly. "I don't think we've lived anywhere longer than a few months."

The grizzled pilot's demeanor changed, looking sympathetic. "M'sorry to hear that. Sounds rough."

Katt, slipping her hand into Falco's, smiled gratefully. "Sticking together has certainly helped. Which is why I wanted to ask, um…" She hesitated, before blurting: "Could we be assigned to the same classes? I know it's probably against regulations, but Falco and I have never been separated; we've managed to stay together since we were little, and in a school this big…it'll be hard for us to make new friends. Please, is there anything you can do?"

"I'm mostly in charge of security, so it's not really my call to make," started Pigma. Then his face lit up. "But you know what? I have a few friends in the faculty, so I think I can still arrange it."

"Really? Oh, _thank you._ That would be a huge help."

Pigma rose to his feet, he motioned for them to stay seated. "Let me see who's in the office right now. Won't be a tick."

As he made his way out of the office, he didn't notice the way Katt watched his every step, waiting patiently for his back to disappear out the slide door before it closed behind him. The second it hissed shut, she reverted to her real voice, turning to Falco.

"Can you believe this place?! It's _perfect._ Absolutely perfect. There's a chump in every room, just waiting to get duped. Even more than the streets had." She scanned the room, her eyes glinting with all the ambition and mischief that she'd managed to keep covert. "We're gonna make it big here."

Finally breaking his silence, Falco made a dry retching sound. "Yeah, whatever. What the hell was that voice you were putting on, anyway?"

"You mean you don't like it when I play the sheltered, naive little girl?" Katt mockingly altered her pitch to the one she had used while Pigma was still in the room. "Whatever do you hate about it?"

An irritable eyebrow shot up, disturbing the crest feathers above his brow that were gelled in a devious racer style. "Because out of all your bullshit acts, it's the _most_ bullshit. We both know you could never sell that image...it's like watching a Simmie pretend he can read."

Katt shrugged. "The old hog couldn't see through it, so the other teachers probably won't either." Her eyes grew big again as her gaze shot about. "Oh, it's going to be perfect here...a few days and we're going to have these people eating out of our hands."

Falco grunted. "Well I'm glad you're optimistic. I dunno how you can be, after hearing that speech of his."

Her whiskers stopped twitching excitedly, and curled in revulsion. "Ugh, you actually stayed awake for all that? I dozed off halfway through."

"Yeah? What about part where the Pig mentioned all the studying and training we'll have to do to stay in this school?" Falco said impatiently. "All the stuff _you_ said we wouldn't have to do when you suggested this place? Did you stay awake for that part?"

Katt sighed. "And we still won't have to do all that. Nothing's changed. So just relax already."

The boundless, easygoing self-assuredness oozing from her would have assured anyone else, but Falco had borne witness to too many of her botched plans for it to work on him. Not when it always seemed to be the prelude to everything going horribly wrong, and the two of them being back on the run.

He folded his arms. "I dunno what you're planning, and I don't care. All I know is that I didn't go through all the trouble to escape that shithole on Kew just to break my over here. We could've snuck anywhere, and you had us come _here."_

"Yeah, and if you'd be a bit patient, you'd see why in a bit," She snapped. "Just follow my lead...I've got everything under control. But I won't for long with you pecking at my skull, so lay off for a bit, will you?"

Falco gave a cautious glance to the door before lowering his voice. "That was a close call there, you know…that guy almost not finding us in the registry. You know it's only gonna get harder from here, right? We won't be able to pickpocket or scam our way around here...not without getting caught." He hissed as he leaned over. "These grown-ups aren't like the junk traders or speeder gangs...these ones actually pay attention. Whatever you've put on our transcripts, we'll have to live up to...without faking it. You plan on managing that without getting us expelled?"

Katt yawned. "For Christ's sake, stop being such a worry-wart. We've faked our ways through schools before."

"Yeah, but not a _military_ school," said Falco, eyes falling to their uniforms. "These people can smell something wrong from a lightyear away—"

"One of their top pilots bought my little fable about being a poor little foster child. If they're all that easy to fool, I won't have any problems." Her triumphant smile melted as she eyed him. "You just make sure those piloting skills are half as good as you always brag them to be…otherwise our cover will fall apart." She brushed a lock of fur aside, muttering softly. "That's the whole reason I picked this place…why any of this has a shot at working…"

Falco aimed his dubious huff at the ceiling. "Whatever. I just don't want a repeat of the Reiaa Station. I ain't changing my name or forging any certificates if we get caught again, got it? We were too careless that time."

Katt's finger stopped curling her fur as her voice rose sharply. " _You_ got careless. I kept a spotless cover and had everything going smoothly until, _as usual,_ it all got destroyed by that big mouth and short temper of yours. So, try to keep both in check this time."

"That is NOT what happened, and you know it!" He barked.

She turned to him, gritting her teeth. "However it happened, it's not going to happen this time. We're gonna stay clean and out of trouble. _My_ way this time, understand? Or we—" Her ear twitched, and she froze. "Shh, here he comes!"

She had already rearranged her expression and voice by the time Pigma had returned, beaming triumphantly.

"You're in luck. I managed to pull a few strings, call in a few favors, and wa-la. You can look forward to spending all semester together."

"You don't know what this means to us, Commander Dengar," Katt gushed. "We grew up together, Falco and me...it's part of the reason why we're a bit inseparable. We've been like that since the orphanage...we like to stick together, you know? We've only ever had each other..."

Falco remained silent and her do all the talking as usual, but he absolutely would've rolled his eyes if Pigma hadn't been there. He just watched the pilot nod.

"Perfectly understandable."

Katt layered her voice with a false sense of worry. "Still, this place...so many other kids...we didn't really have this many to talk to back at the Foster Home. They might think we're weird...sticking together, not really talking to anyone else. Is there room for people like us?"

Pigma straightened firmly. "You won't have to worry about that, kid. There's room for everyone at this school, no matter where they come from."

He couldn't see the slight curve of Katt's mouth where she repressed a sly, knowing smile, but Falco could see it. "That's good to hear. Thank you, Commander. Now, um...which classroom are we supposed to be in today?"

_Cadet Success Room 44B, Academy West Wing_

Wolf's feet were already sore from walking the massive school ground when he collapsed into his chair. Keeping his gaze aimless and aloof, he glanced the other students.

So _these_ were the people he'd be spending the next four years with. As was standard for him, he'd assumed a desk in the back, far from all the bubbly and carefree chatter of everyone else. With any luck, no one would notice him, or even talk to him by accident.

He could already imagine Lucy's voice admonishing him for not mingling with the other students, but it had to be done. Even under his sullen, passive expression, Wolf unbearably nervous. It wasn't that he was afraid of socializing but doing so _incorrectly_ …and with the wrong people _._ Time in prison had made him inexperienced in new surroundings, afraid to approach people all over again. Desperate to blend in, he found himself doing what he'd often do when exploding new territory on Venom.

Studying the other beasts. Observing the sounds and behavior of other specimen at a safe distance, to mimic and eventually blend in with them. It had always helped with avoiding getting eaten…or sticking out. Instead of snapping teeth or loud footfalls, it was distant gossip and slang that he was attuning his ears to. He'd listen, but he was too terrified to actually talk to anyone. The potential hazard of something so bold held a tight stranglehold on his stomach.

He felt the tracer anklet hidden in his boot suddenly felt heavy, and his blood ran cold. One slip-up, one gap of vulnerability for some petty or judgmental clique of students to seize, could seed the ground for something going very, very wrong…

In the corner, he noticed a red fox sitting a seats away, appearing just as desperate to isolate himself from everyone else. Wolf's eyebrows furrowed, wondering what he had to be nervous about.

The door hissing open and the clacking of an Officer's boots caused everyone to straighten, only to be surprised at its source.

"Ah. You're all here early…good."

The Professor stepping in was a Collie with billowing white fur that came down to her shoulders and almost blended with her spotless naval uniform, save for the splash of sable running up her cheeks. While not young, she certainly wasn't the grizzled veteran type that everyone had been expecting. But when she seized command of the air with the crisp sound of her voice, that impression didn't last.

"I would indulge in the usual warm first-day greetings, but it appears my colleague Commander Dengar has already beaten me to it. So I'll just cut to the chase." She thumbed her spectacles. "On the bridge of a Command Vessel, verbal frittering ceases _well_ before the Captain or Admiral arrives. I won't expect any salutes or heel clicking while you're in my class, but I will expect some basic etiquette."

She glanced at some of the unoccupied seats scattered throughout the room. Her crisp, olive-green eyes flashed warningly.

"You'd also do well not to make the mistakes of your missing peers. My colleagues, bless them, may stop at mere infractions to encourage a sense of timeliness, but I can assure you that _I_ will not. Keep that in mind, should you be tempted to turn up late to class…or skipping. Trying my patience is not advisable."

Despite being silky and quiet, her voice had plenty of reach and bit the air like a hatchet, in a way that made Wolf adjust his posture immediately. It was obvious that the seclusion of the back row wasn't going to shield him from her wrath should he start slouching.

 _Peppy wasn't kidding when he said these Academy types were strict. And I thought the Warden back in Juvie was tough…_ He grimaced. … _This lady looks like she could devour him._

"Let's begin, shall we?" She offered cordially, or at least as cordial as her frosty composure would allow. "Now, I'm certain you're all anxious to begin your flight lessons, but first, we'll be going over the other aspects of your training. (She slid a silver briefcase onto her desk). Joining the ranks of the Cornerian Defense Force means being proficient in number of vital skills, both inside and outside the cockpit. They will be critical to your survival out on the galactic frontier…and as Professor of Fleet Tactics, I'll be assisting in helping you refine them.

She clicked open the briefcase, and Wolf leaned forward, eagerly expecting her to pull out a blaster or detonator, or some model ships and galactic maps for demonstration…only to be let down when she pulled out a stack of personal datapads. The kind for holding textbooks.

His eyebrows furrowed. _Wait…what skills are we going to learn here, exactly?_

"You'll be studying the intermediate basics: _Advanced Armada Stratagem: Vol. One_ , and _Vorian's Chronology of Lylatian Naval Warfare,_ updated for the current stardate." She consulted her own tablet. "Our Holobook Archives are open daily for you to run scans. Ten chapters a day, and be prepared to discuss the material every morning."

Wolf blinked. The longer she talked, the more he became gradually confused.

"Now, the previous school standard was four exams per week, but you can all relax…we've lowered it to three per week, just for this year. Wouldn't want to overwhelm anyone."

_Wha—? Did she say three EXAMS? Per WEEK?_

Wolf's mind started racing. He knew he'd have to do some regular studying, but this was overkill. Did they expect them to store a library's worth of information in their skulls?

"I must say, you cadets have it far easier compared to the kind of bone-crushing amount of work I had to do in my day." She pursed her lips. "Seems like school measures became soft only _after_ I graduated…oh, well. Spilled milk."

Looking around, Wolf found relief that everyone looked just as bewildered as he was, exchanging raised eyebrows and confused glances. Hearing Pigma bark on about the intense training and the hardest four years of their lives, they had been expecting boot camp-level stuff…not all _this._

A female Hyena in the front row, whose tuft of fur above her brow was dyed strawberry red, finally rose her hand. "Excuse me, Professor, I think I misheard you. I thought you said we'd be taking _written exams."_

The Collie paused slightly. "Of course not. You won't be doing any literal _writing,_ this isn't the prehistoric age, or anything. Everything will be done on computers of course."

"That's not what I meant," the Hyena reiterated, a little annoyed. "Why're we being subjected to all this busywork and textbook rummaging? This is a military school, isn't it? Shouldn't the focus be on, well… _physical_ training?"

Rather dismissively, the Professor returned her gaze to her datapad. "Handling starships and being physically primed to be a pilot means nothing if you can't think like one."

"And we're supposed to learn that from being in this tight little room, strapped to a desk? _Not_ in a cockpit?" The Hyena demanded. "How is memorizing a bunch of pointless information going to help us become pilots? We should be practicing flying. _Combat._ Not shuffling through paperwork like secretaries."

Murmurs of agreement came from around the room, and even Wolf nodded. Instead of scolding her, the Professor arched her regal eyebrows, seemingly admiring the gall of the student.

"I see that the usual misconceptions about this school are still going strong." She snapped the suitcase shut, and faced them. "Corneria is protected by the greatest, most efficient fleet in the Lylat System; do you really think we would have that reputation if we lined our ranks with any trigger-happy dullard capable of performing airborne theatrics wherever we send them?"

Silence fell over the room, her bluntness disarming all of them.

"If our standards were that lax, the Motherworld would've have fallen into disarray ages ago. It's true that we churn out the best, but 'best' doesn't just equal brainless combatants." She regarded the Hyena frigidly. "And as for you, Cadet 15, don't worry: We have plenty of objects that memorize and regurgitate for us already…they're called robots. Space Dynamics makes plenty of them."

The Hyena's frown was either not detected or acknowledged by the Professor as she walked by.

"…What you'll be doing is making battlefield tactics second nature. And if I'm not convinced that you have a proper grasp of battlefield strategy, you aren't going anywhere _near_ the Fleet. Plain and simple."

The entire class was too busy groaning to listen to her. Wolf didn't join them. The doldrums of schoolwork were a step up from scrubbing floors back in Juvie, but he wasn't particularly thrilled about this revelation either.

The onslaught of groans didn't even make the Professor's ears twitch. "Yes, I can see you're all just bursting with enthusiasm." She dialed back some of the sternness of her voice, addressing them earnestly. "I don't blame you. No one looks forward to this part of becoming a pilot…but I cannot understate its importance. Knowing where to bank your craft or where to shoot is only half of what space combat is about. Every calculated decision leading up to those things— _that's_ the other half. Even the most microscopic of decisions made before you even touch the throttle can change the tide of an entire battle. Countless pilots and generals in years past have—"

Suddenly, she's interrupted by a knock on the slide door, as a Racoon Dog popped his head through.

"S'cuse me, Carol?

The Collie went entirely rigid, with the exception of her bushy tail fraying in annoyance) _Professor Dunaway,_ if you please, Mr. Du Pon. What is it?

His ears drooped. "…Sorry. Just comin' by to drop off a few late arrivals. Excuse their tardiness, will ya?"

She raised her eyebrows. "They have an official excuse, I presume?"

"Apparently, the registry was actin' up…no fault of their own. Think you could cut 'em some slack?"

"I'll make an exception this once," Professor Dunaway said stiffly. "Send them in."

The man retreated, and the slide door hissed open, followed by the sound of a hasty female voice. "Come on, Falco, it's _this_ room."

Wolf's sensitive nose, saddled with a robust sense of smell that he couldn't turn off, was then assaulted by a lather of perfume in the air that almost made him gag.

In walked a female cat doused in inky-black fur—aside from a milk-white snout and frost-tipped tail. Sleek and pretty, and more than a little petite, she possessed a lush natural beauty for her age. Her feline features stood out in a canine-dominated room, fraught with the ethnic delicateness and loveliness inherent to purebred Katinese genes. Whatever wearing make-up she had on was applied quite sparingly, and her furcut wasn't in that perm style that was en vogue among other girls these days. Instead, it was smoothed out into a bob cut, ends curved and bangs pressed neatly, giving her the look of those high-class uptown belles from vintage fashion holo-ads.

All of which was only aided by striking violet eyes, flashing with a playful deviousness to them, and pert starlet lips that lent themselves easily to a playful pout...or a fiendish smirk.

When she walked in, there was a loud lurch of every male Cadet leaning forward in their seat, completely ignoring her male Avian friend behind her. The slight sway in her movements didn't go unnoticed, with the boys in the front row, eyes tracking her legs with the laser-sharp precision.

There was an onslaught of whistles and catcalls, as they all pushed out nearby chairs, blatantly competing for her to sit next to them.

Dunaway cut over them sharply. "Alright, that's quite enough. This is a classroom, not a strip mall. Try to contain yourselves, please."

The girl appeared unfettered by all the male attention—if anything, seeming to relish toying with their expectations. She strode by, placing a finger of faux indecisiveness on her chin, before finally taking a seat with the other girls and letting the distant catcalls turn into disappointed groans.

For every infatuated look she ensnared from every boy in the room, she was getting just as many icy, resentful ones from the female Cadets, clearly agitated at the attention she was getting. And she seemed aware of it, too: she smirked in the corner of her mouth, lounging cross-legged in her chair and seemingly basking in the glowering envy pouring from all sides of the room.

Wolf just rolled his eyes at all of the lovestruck guys around him. Maybe growing up with Lucy had soured his perception of girls, but he didn't see what made this one so special…let alone why every other guy was acting like they hadn't seen a girl before.

Then, he took notice of the Falco guy a few rows over. He was rolling his eyes at the girl's antics too, evidently feeling that whatever she was up to, she was overdoing it. He was also clearly conscious of the boys drooling over his feline companion, judging by his lethal glower.

Wolf glanced over. _Hold on—are those two a thing? And he's just okay with her flaunting herself like this?_ He furrowed his eyebrows.

_I don't think I'll ever understand Lylatian Teenagers..._

"Cadet 64, I presume you're still with us?"

Wolf hadn't even realized that the Professor had resumed her lecture. It couldn't have been more obvious that her remarkably quiet voice had been taken him completely, but then he just had to make himself look even stupider by blurting:

"YES! I mean…yes, Ma'am."

"Really?" She regarded him coldly. "What was the last thing I said, then?"

Wolf's face nettled, and he immediately sunk his head. "...I-I don't know, ma'am."

A small ripple of mirth broke from the other students.

"Hmm. Pity." It was the only stab of humiliation she had to apply before setting her sights on Falco. "And you, Cadet 124. Since you seem perfectly content with staring off into oblivion, maybe you could recite what I said to the class?"

The moody-looking Avian reclined in his seat. "I'll be honest with you, ma'am…I wasn't really paying attention.

It was the kind of sheer audacity that made Wolf's eyebrows launch fairly close to his furline, and pockets of the surrounding students also gaped. Dunaway looked far less impressed, meeting the cocky Avian's gaze.

"Well, aren't we the bold one. (She folded her arms) Maybe you can explain just how you plan on doing well in my class, since obviously just _paying attention_ to the lecture is too much of a chore for you."

In response to her challenge, Falco just lazily glances at the textbook pad on his desk, and shrugs) I'm not really worried. I'll just turn up, take the exams…pass by my teeth. No offense, but this class ain't exactly a real test of my flying talents…I don't need to do more than the bare minimum."

"You won't get anywhere with that attitude," The Professor cut in. "None of you will. However little patience _I_ have for mediocrity, the Cornerian Defense Fleet has even less." She gestured to the slide door with her chin. "In fact, it would be better for you to leave now, if you plan on giving anything but your best in your studies.

Falco rolled his eyes "…Whatever you say, ma'am."

There was a dangerous flash behind Dunaway's glasses) I see you doubt me. Let me put it another way." (She raised her voice, addressing all of them. "Out of the 1300 students we enroll, only 300 or so typically graduate to the Fleet at the end of the four years."

Right away, the whole class sat up. Chairs screeched, tails flattened, snouts and ears sprang up. Several alarmed voices went off at once.

"What? A _thousand people_ fail?!"

"How?! _Why?_ What happened to them?"

"They failed to meet the Academy standard," She said simply). "It's nothing irregular…sometimes it befalls even the brightest students. Plenty study as hard as they can, put every ounce of energy into their flight exercises and exams...but they just aren't good enough by the end.

An Iguana student swallowed "...Where are they now? Did they repeat a year, something?"

"'Repeat'?" She repressed a laugh. "Of course not. They work other jobs, now. You don't get readmitted to the Academy once you flunk out—that's not how we operate. Students who fail are dismissed from all future consideration. Period."

Wolf's purple eyes widened, anxiety gnawing deep under his fur, while also taking to the air around him like fumes. Everyone else found it equally hard to breathe, and even harder to process what the Professor was saying.

"Wha—?! So that's it?" exclaimed Falco in disbelief. "We screw up once, n' we're done? No second chances, nothin'?"

The Collie turned mid-stride to all of them, her sleek plume of a tail bobbing behind her. "I don't think you children realize the privilege you've been offered. You're being considered for the best defense force in the galaxy, the ultimate safeguard of civilization—the single reason there hasn't been an outbreak of war in years. Did you think the standard wouldn't be high?

"…I didn't think it would be this high," said the Hyena student, gritting her teeth.

"Your academic standing here will be treated as indicative of your performance as part of the fleet. Slack off, miss enough classes, fail enough exams, and you'll be dismissed."

"...so it's okay as long as we pass, right?" Katt ventured optimistically.

"'Passing' is for public schools," Dunaway said sharply. "Or some second-rate military fleet of another planet. We don't have room for people who "pass", only those who excel. You're either good enough for the Fleet, or you're not. Each year, a thousand of our attendees are in the 'not' category and get booted before they've seen their first armada formation."

There was a brief stir of empathy in her gaze as it briefly wandered over the classroom.

"It doesn't just happen to slackers: Many try their hardest don't get in, and don't see these walls again. During my time here, it happened to plenty of my friends…and it'll definitely happen to one or all of you in this room. In fact, I don't expect to see most of you again before the year is out."

Silence took hold of the room.

Wolf remained numb in his seat, letting what the woman was saying wash over him. There was a daunting feeling to this static classroom that hadn't been there before. A disquiet ripple traveled up the fur on his neck, one that ate at all sky-high aspirations he had carried with him through the school gates, shearing them to a nub.

Everything that Peppy and everyone else had said about this place, about its infamous bone-crushing difficulty, suddenly became much clearer: it wasn't the strict protocols or grueling exercises…it was _this._

"In short, ladies and gentlemen, you either join the three hundred that graduate, or join the masses that don't." The clicking sound of Dunaway adjusting her glasses loudened in the tense air. "I look forward to see which of you successfully rises to that challenge."

A new, unanticipated sense of anxiety and dread was running throughout the room, manifesting itself through paling faces and uncertain grimaces. There was also, however, a needling hostility that came from children like Katt, narrowing their eyes warily. Suddenly, they weren't just all fellow students anymore. They were competitors.

The Professor straightened. "Now…does anyone have any questions?"

Just as a flurry of hands sprang up from a suddenly far more attentive mob of students, including Falco, there was another tap on the slide door. The Professor pursed her lips, clearly suppressing her growing irritation.

" _Come in."_

The door hissed open again, only this time, the Corgi Hall Officer Barney stuck his head through.

"Apologies for interrupting, Professor. I was sent by the Faculty Office to make sure one of your students made it to your class. Apparently, he almost got lost earlier."

Dunaway glanced at the remaining empty seats. "It's possible they haven't arrived yet. Who's the Cadet?"

"Cadet 93?" Barney asked around the room, in a loud and painfully telegraphed fashion. "Fox McCloud, is he here?"

It was like dropping blood into a stream full of Fortunan serrasal eels. Everyone forgot about their anxiety and spun their heads about the room instantly…even Wolf, out of sheer curiosity if nothing else. Their eyes turned to the one fox in the room, spying his golden jacket number before his hand could fly over it. Eyebrows launched and excited whispering ignited around the room.

Fox practically wilted in panic at all the eyes locked onto him. All at once, there was a loud screech of desks crowding around him, as questions came raining down.

"Ohmigosh, _you're_ James McCloud's son?"

"Do you, like, want to be friends?"

"Can you fly as well as your Dad? Has he taught you any cool tricks?"

"Have you ever flown one of the Arwings? Do YOU have one?"

When he was up to his neck in deafening, overlapping voices, Fox let out a miserable groan. Professor Dunaway saw his discomfort and acted quickly.

"That's enough, all of you! Simmer down immediately!" She aimed a frigid look at the Hall Officer, who took it as his queue to leave, before anyone could see his triumphant smile. "I'm certain that Mr. McCloud doesn't appreciate being crowded. And return your desks to their original places, _now."_

"Is he getting taught the same way we are?"

"Are you gonna grade him the same as us? He's not gonna get any special treatment, is he?"

"He better not," the Hyena student cut in heatedly. "I'm not going to break my back over schoolwork while _he_ slides by on celeb cred—"

" _That's enough,"_ snapped Professor Dunaway, in a way that silenced the entire class. "The Cornerian Prime Minister himself won't get any special treatment in my classroom. The standards apply to all of us, even McClouds. Regardless of what he is outside of this room or the gates of the school, inside he's merely Cadet 93, and our faculty won't treat him like anything else..." She affixed a cold stare. "Something that I expect from every one of you. If I witness any dogpiling or harassment by anyone, they _will_ answer for it. Is that clear?"

Once she had obtained a submissive silence from the room, she adjusted her glasses and composure with a twinge of her snout.

"Now, let that be the end of it."

Fox looked mildly relieved, but the Professor's warning did little to sway the wave of eyes on him as she continued the lesson. He turned red as beat, flattening his head into the desk and curling his tail around himself embarrassedly.

Wolf observed him silently from afar, eyebrow skewed. So _that_ scrawny kid was Fox McCloud.  
He had never met or seen him, having mostly heard about him in passing while living with the Hares. And upon seeing him...he wasn't at all what he expected. Part of him had always expected him to be a perfect duplicate of his father, but the kid seemed so...uncomfortable. He looked shy, squirming in his seat, overwhelmed with self-consciousness. His mannerisms certainly didn't resemble the confidence or swagger of his father. _Maybe that's a good thing,_ Wolf thought.

Wolf's first gut reaction was outright dismissal. He didn't have any personal beef with the kid…and it wasn't like his history with James had anything to do with this kid. There was nothing to gain or lose by having him around…

That was when Wolf sat up in realization. He looked around the room, assessing its occupants, and suddenly realized the unintended bliss of his situation.

Not two rows from him sat the answers to his dilemma, the perfect "beasts" to hide his scent in this new terrain: the showy girl desperate for attention, and the prodigal son of James McCloud desperate to avoid it. More and more, Wolf felt all of his feverish apprehensions about attending classes with other teenagers beginning to seep out of him. He wouldn't have to worry about being the sole target of attention, positive or negative, not with two prime candidates in the room to absorb it for him. He could slip into the background, unnoticed and unassuming. He could spend the next four years as an absolute nobody, while these people stole all the spotlight.

Wolf drew his feet under his desk, feeling the bump of the tracker anklet under his boot. _An absolute nobody, just passing through._ The more he said it in his head, the better it sounded.

* * *

Like an insect resuming its camouflage against a collage of leaves, Barney slipped out of the classroom.

Fritz, leaning casually against the wall, watched the Shiba's brisk walk and couldn't help admiring how real it looked. Any untrained eye would've easily mistaken him for just another Hall Officer conducting his duty. That bogus Faculty Routine story he fed the teacher was probably equally convincing.

The Shiba passed him, giving an affirming nod that was so subtle, no one at a distance would've believed that he'd moved his chin.

Fritz was sensitive to minute details like that. Spending hours with strangers at fancy soirees that his father had forced him to attend had conditioned him to memorize things like subtle exchanges, and facial features. And that was precisely why walking past a stuttering, nervous fox that just so _happened_ to share James McCloud's jawline and eye-shape had ignited his suspicions earlier. And now that his loyal Hall Officer had confirmed those suspicions, the Retriever felt his snout tingle with excitement.

Word that James' brood was attending would travel fast, but few would take advantage of it as quickly as he would. Plotting rapidly and deciding the roles everyone would play in his scheme, Fritz smiled thoughtfully.

 _Don't you worry your pretty little head, Fox…_ He thought. _I'll make sure school's a cakewalk for you._

 _Everything will be smooth flying…for_ both _of us._

* * *

Naturally, the literal second that the students were let out to be escorted to Flight Training, they all swarmed around Fox, pelting him with questions.

"Do you have any cool scars like your Dad?"

"When he retires, are you gonna become Leader of Star Fox?"

"Dude, you're SO lucky. You must've seen all kinds of places with the Star Fox Team—"

"Does he ever take you on any of his missions?"

The cold and static hallways was suddenly ringing with their ecstatic voices, with Fox either too polite or too much of a pushover to turn any of them away. He meekly answered what he could, barely audible and stuttering incessantly, but even the most anticlimactic answer failed to dissuade his entourage of admirers. And in spite of the Hall Officer's desperate attempts to maintain order, the cadets circled the introverted kid like a cloud of bees, rendering him barely visible from the outside.

Wolf might have even felt sorry for the poor kid…if he wasn't the son of someone he thought to be grossly overrated. He chose to trail behind the mob with his hands in his pockets, rather than subject his ears to the usual, tired hype around the McCloud family and how "amazing" they were.

Even listening to that Falco kid groan on was less insufferable:

"…Honestly, if all the teachers here are like Miss Black-Hole-For-A-Soul back there, they might as well cut the crap and just enlist us." He thumbed his beak, cursing. "A fleet admirals gotta be more lenient than _her."_

"Aww, what's the matter?" Katt asked mockingly. "Someone mad about getting chewed out in front of the class?"

Falco's feathers spiked as he grumbled. "I'm not mad. She wants to clamber after whatever shrinking authority she's got as a doddering schoolteacher, she can. But I'm not about to break my back for her, or anyone else…especially over all this pointless bookworm crap."

Katt shrugged. "Well, that was always a given. You're averse to anything that requires thinking, sweetie."

He ignored her, popping up his collar dismissively. "B'sides, whatever weight she throws around in that little room means nothin'. _This_ class however...this is where I'm going to prove myself." A cocky grin sprang onto his beak. "I'm gonna show those curmudgeonly old flight instructors what I'm made of. Hell, even James McCloud himself is gonna be blown away by how well I can fly."

A Sparrow Cadet nearby scoffed. "Get real. He probably sees hundreds of students on a yearly basis…what's gonna be so special about _you?"_

"Simple. The way I sees it, ol' James is probably gonna be shocked by how much flying's changes since his day. He's probably seen his share of space pirates and planetary terrorists. But I've been around: belly-racing, canyon-running, street competitions…all polishing my skills in a way that'll _dazzle_ the old man."

"I wouldn't get to hopeful," Katt warned, gesturing ahead to where Fox and his entourage was. "A certain someone might dazzle him first."

"Who, Tiny over there? Hey, look—I'm sure the kid's an excellent flier. Really." His blue eyes flashed with a glint of self-assuredness. "He's just not the best in the class."

There was a mix of laughter and shaking of heads from the others. "Oh, and you are?" Someone laughed.

"Hey, I'm not making any claims. I'm just saying that the title can go to anyone…and I just happen to have the best chances."

Katt examined a nail lazily. "You better hope the Flight Instructors agree."

"Hey, there's no better time to impress 'em with fresh new talent. I mean, look around: there's no war, Lylat's more peaceful than it's ever been…it's never been easier to set a new standard for greatness. Any one of us can rise up the ranks, become legendary…with or _without_ having the last name 'McCloud'."

A few paces ahead, Wolf did his share of eye-rolling at the bird's ego, but some of his words were staying with him. There was something plausible about any one of them surpassing the legends immortalized in those statues outside. Plausible and appealing.

"And you think that'll happen to you?" A Parakeet Cadet asked skeptically.

"Trust me," said Falco. "All it'll take is climbing into a sim pod, shooting some AI ships—rack up a score, make the Instructors cream themselves, and it'll be a done deal. They'll see that I barely need training, that I'm _ready._ For my own ship, my own squadron, the works. And who knows? Give it a year, maybe two, and they might even consider adding a new statue to those other ones outside—"

His chest collided with the elbow of Wolf in front of him, who had randomly stopped walking.

" _Oof_ —HEY! What the hell was that for?"

Wolf didn't answer. A musty, oxidized smell hit him, one that made his eyes widen.

"Hello? I'm talking to you! HEY!"

The Bird's loud voice made the Hall Officer ahead turn. "What's going on back there?"

"Hell if I know!" Falco fumed, rubbing his ribs. "Grey Boy here decided to turn into a statue in front of me. I don't know what his problem is!"

Shuffling over impatiently, the Upperclassman eyed Wolf. "Trying to start trouble, Cadet? Rough-housing on the first day of the semester?"

"Something's burning," said Wolf immediately, his keen nose twitching alertly. "Can't you smell it?"

The Dalmatian Hall Officer sniffed the air and frowned. "There's no smell. Don't try to play games, Cadet, you won't fool—"

His suspicious look vanished. By the time he took noticed of a visible haze lathering the air, it was too late. The excited fervor in the hall had already stopped, the other Cadets yanked out of their chatter as they saw their noses twitched, and their eyes started watering. The rising fumes sent up a flurry of frightened voices and coughs.

Wolf's hands shot up to rub his stinging eyes, but it didn't matter. He was already losing sight of the Cadets in the midst of the thickening haze. The terror needling its way under his fur only amplified when the doorways and walls started to disappear as well. Right away, that prickling, deep-seated, irrational fear imprinted onto him from losing his way in those nightmarishly-small cave tunnels of his youth re-emerged…tightening his lungs even lungs more than the smoke did.

Just being reminded of those Venomian caverns triggered a panic that stymied his flow of thought, just as the haze was clouding his vision. He began reaching around blindly to find a wall or something to get his bearings.

That was when a loud tremor from somewhere outside the school rattled the hallway, and made everything worse. It sent an electric crackle across the ceiling that filled the air with the smell of burnt wiring, and the ceiling lights shattered.

In the blinding few seconds in which the electricity surged, Wolf could barely muster a terrified thought over the shrill screaming around him…as the hallway went completely dark.


End file.
